


Can't Hardly Wait

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Summer and Fall 2015 [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bullying, Homophobic Language, Implied threat of rape, M/M, Post-Graduation, updates until July 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 52,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles, social media posts and other short items from the period between Jack’s graduation and Fourth of July 2015, posted for the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/CantHardlyWait_CheckPlease_DailyChallenge2016">Can’t Hardly Wait</a> challenge. Expect alternating point of view between Bitty and Jack. All written quickly and unbeta’d. Rating subject to change with subsequent installments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May 18: Bitty

Bitty sat up in his seat, clutching his phone.

He dutifully turned it to airplane mode when the flight attendants asked, but he didn’t tuck it into his pocket.

Instead, he opened his texts and smiled like a fool.

The woman in the seat next to him saw his face and smiled, too.

“Going home to someone special?” she said, her accent making it clear that she was flying home as well.

Bitty swallowed. “Home,” he said. “Leaving someone special. But I only just found out I was special to them, too.”

The woman let the vague pronoun pass.

“Well, I hope that you get to see your someone special soon,” she said.

*****

The first text from Jack said, “I’m sorry.”

 _What for?_ Eric had texted back. He’d been so confused: elated by the kisses in the Haus, bereft at Jack’s departure, lost at the apology. Was Jack taking it back, what he seemed to be saying when he kissed Bitty?

“For not asking first. For not doing that sooner. For doing that when we both needed to leave.”

_Kissing me, you mean?_

“Chirping me now, Bittle?”

_It’s OK-- the kissing me, I mean. In case I didn’t make that obvious. But I wish I didn’t have to go._

“Me too. There are things I want to tell you. Talk tonight?”

_Talk tonight. I’ll text you after dinner with my parents and we can skype.”_

“I’ll be waiting.”

*****

Lord, how was Bitty supposed to go back to being Dicky, or Junior, and sit through a meal with his parents? How was he going to make it through the ride home with his mother without it showing on his face? His world had changed in the most delightfully unexpected way.

He grinned to himself again, and then closed his eyes to pretend to nap until the plane landed. 


	2. May 19: Jack

May 19: Jack

Jack woke early, even though there was really nothing for him to get up for just yet.  
The sun was slanting through the windows of his new bedroom (Blinds. He had to get blinds. Today.) and he could feel the silence surrounding him. He could feel the bed surrounding him. Why had he bought a king-sized bed? He didn’t need it. The night before, he’d slept on the twin mattress in his old room at the Haus. His old room, which didn’t have windows that let in early morning light, but did have a constant stream of small noises: young men snoring, the house settling, water rushing in the pipes when someone flushed a toilet.  
The bed was too big to be in by himself.  
Jack rolled over and checked the time on his phone, pausing to look one more time at the last message from Bittle -- Bitty -- the night before.  
Good night <3333! I miss you!  
Jack typed a quick good-morning text, then rummaged through his bag on the floor to find running clothes. Might as well learn his way around the new neighborhood.  
As Jack explored the streets surrounding his new condo, he thought about the kiss and the conversation that followed.  
Usually, he knew, such conversations would have taken place with the two of them wrapped up in each other’s arms. Doing it over video chat was, well, distancing. But maybe that was a good thing.  
He’d had a lot more than sweet nothings to tell Bitty. A list of considerations -- a list of “Why Bittle Should Not Date Jack” -- had formed in his mind over the course of the afternoon. He was going to play in the NHL, and he would have to stay in the closet, at least for a while, and Eric deserved someone who could show him off, who could brag about him to everyone. Eric should be able to tell everyone about his boyfriend. (“Maybe one day, Jack, after you retire,” Bitty had said. “Crisse, I’m not going to wait that long!" Jack had responded.)  
That didn’t even address that Jack was going to play in the NHL, which meant he’d be insanely busy and insanely worn out. Bitty had two years of college left. He deserved to to enjoy them by not waiting by his phone for a call that might or might not come. (“Who waits by a phone anymore, Jack? You take the phone with you.”)  
Jack was a poor risk, he had said. He still suffered from anxiety, and he had already overdosed once. And when he was uncomfortable or out of his depth, he could be a real asshole. (“You think that’s news to me?” Bitty said).  
After Jack gave Bitty the whole list, Bitty had said, “So what I’m hearing is that you want us to be boyfriends. You really like me like that?”  
And Jack, who couldn’t understand why at least a quarter of the men on Samwell’s campus weren’t standing in line to ask Bitty out, said “Of course I do.”  
“I’ve liked you forever, Jack. Of course I’ll be your boyfriend. There is so much I want to do with you.”  
Bitty’s face had turned pink, and Jack helped it along by saying, ‘What kind of things do you want to do to me?”  
“Boyfriend things,” Bitty had said, going bright red.  
Jack let himself think about that the rest of the way home.


	3. May 20: Bitty

Chapter 3

May 20: Bitty

“So what's your plan for the summer, Junior?”

Eric’s father paused as he looked at his son over the dinner table. “Do you have a job lined up?”

“Richard, he only got home the night before last,” his mother cut in. “Give him a minute to breathe, why don't you?”

Eric looked at his mother in gratitude before answering his father.

“It's all right, Mama,” he said. “I’ll be working the camps at the rink again, but that doesn't start until June. I’m lucky -- they said they'd keep me on for their hockey and figure skating camps, so I'll be there every week.”

“How long does that go?” his mother asked. “Maybe when it's over we can drive over and see Laura and the kids for a few days.”

“I don't think so. Maybe for a weekend?” Bitty said. “Camp goes all the way through the end of July. Then I'll go back north the first week of August to get things ready for the new season.”

North. Providence was definitely north.

“That soon?” his mother asked. “Last year, we didn’t leave until the middle of August.”

“I know, Mama, but I have more I have to get done this year,” Bitty said. 

“Isn’t Jack’s birthday in the beginning of August?” his mother asked. “You made a pie for a late birthday party last year. Will he already be in Providence in August? That’s where he’s going to play, isn’t it?”

Good Lord. Did Bitty have a sign on his forehead reading “Ask me about Jack Zimmermann?”

“Yes, ma’am. His birthday is around then. And I think he already moved to Providence. The team had lots of things for him to do, and he wanted to start training,” Bitty said.

“He’s such a nice boy. Did you ever ask him to come visit?” his mother asked.

“I might have mentioned it,” Bitty said. “I could ask again, if you want.”


	4. May 21: Jack

Jack clicked on “purchase tickets” and “confirm” and smiled. Now he knew he'd be seeing Bitty in July. It was more than a month away, but less than a month after that Bitty would visit him in Providence. After that, well, they'd figure it out.  
Jack had been hoping that he'd be able to go to Madison over the summer, but he wasn't sure he'd be welcome. Mrs. Bittle had invited him -- more than once -- but Jack knew people sometimes said things like that without meaning them. And he'd never met Bitty’s father, but he got the impression he was less talkative than Bitty or his mother. He might not appreciate having his home invaded by a stranger.  
Jack could sympathize, to a point. But it was Bitty’s home too, and Jack thought that should count for something.  
After talking to Bitty last night, he realized he might be unwelcome for entirely different reasons.  
Bitty’s face had appeared on his screen, somehow looking pleased and anxious at the same time.  
“Mama asked me again if you were going to come visit,” Bitty said, almost without preamble. “She thought you might enjoy ‘a good old-fashioned Fourth of July.’” Bitty didn’t actually make air quotes, but Jack could hear them in his voice.  
“I reminded her that you’re Canadian --”  
Was that it? Did Bitty think he wouldn’t want to visit, or would be offended by the no doubt overwhelming display of red, white and blue?  
“Of course I want to come, Bits,” Jack said, and saw the joy and relief that flashed through Bitty’s eyes. “I’d come whether it was a holiday or not, but it might be easier for me to get a couple of days off then anyway.”  
“Great! I’ll tell Mama,” Bitty said. “But before you come, I need to tell you something.”  
Bitty chewed his lip for a moment, and looked down before addressing the camera again.  
“They don’t know,” he said.  
“About us?” Jack said. “I know we have to keep this quiet -- at least for now -- but it’s OK if you want to tell your parents. I told mine.”  
“No, Jack,” Bitty said. “About me?”  
The way Bitty’s voice rose at the end of that sentence, like he wasn’t sure even of himself, broke Jack just a bit, and he wanted to gather Bitty in his arms and just hold him.  
“You mean about you --”  
“Being gay,” Bitty said. “I’m not out down here. When I was in high school, I never felt like it would be safe, and now … I guess I could say something, because if it was too awful I could always leave, but I’m in a good place now with my parents and I don’t want to ruin that. Playing hockey, going as far as we did last season, Coach is finally a little bit proud of me, or at least not disappointed in me. I don’t want to ruin that.”  
Jack looked down now, wondering how anyone could ever see Bitty -- sunny, bright, strong, brave Eric Bittle -- as a disappointment, and trying to tamp down the anger that someone who was supposed to love Bitty would want to dim his brilliance.  
“I’m not ashamed of us,” Bitty hurried to reassure Jack. “I can’t believe that someone like you would want me. But maybe this isn’t the best time for me to show you off as my boyfriend? If I can only tell people that you’re my friend, is that OK?”  
Jack looked up and smiled, trying to let all his affection and none of his anger show. He didn’t want Bitty to think he was angry at him.  
“Of course, Bits,” Jack said. “I’m proud that you want to be my boyfriend, but I’m also proud that you’re my friend. Whatever you think is best. They’re your family.”  
Finally Bitty looked happy again, the smile turning just a little cheeky.  
“Don’t think that means I’m not going to kiss you the minute I get a chance,” Bitty said.  
“I hope so,” Jack said. “I want to kiss you, too, Bits.”  
“And … other things?” Bitty asked. “I don’t know how much privacy we’ll get here, but I told Mama and Coach that I was going to fly back north at the beginning of August. That should give us some time in Providence before your preseason gets too crazy.”  
Jack had shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and agreed enthusiastically before saying goodnight.  
This morning, before meeting with the nutritionist, Jack had stuck his head in George’s office and said, “I just wanted to make sure: Is it OK if I turn Fourth of July into a four-day weekend? One of my old teammate’s parents invited me for the holiday.”  
“Sure, Jack,” George said. “I admire your dedication to being prepared, but you’re not required to spend all summer in Providence. Thanks for letting me know. Where are you going that weekend?”  
“Uh, Georgia,” he said.  
George winced.  
“That’s gonna be hot,” she said. “Who lives there? Wasn’t that little blond -- Bittle? -- from the South?”


	5. May 22: Bitty

Chapter 5

May 22: Bitty

The peaches at the market weren’t quite ready, so Bitty bought a couple of flats of blueberries and strawberries instead. 

The first farmers’ market in Madison since Bitty got home would be tomorrow morning, and Bitty had made arrangements for a small table. He had enough blueberries for a half-dozen pies, he thought, and he could probably do a dozen and a half tartlets with the strawberries. It didn’t sound like much, to Bitty’s own mind, but he could clear about $100 if he sold out. If he did that every week, it would mean more spending money when he got back to Samwell.

Bitty had only been back in Madison for a few days, and he'd already put in time doing odd jobs around the high school. That was one benefit of having the football coach for a father: the school administrators let him do summer work to keep his dad happy, and Bitty mostly got to work outside. It would keep him busy until camp started.

This week, the railings around the football stadium would be due for a fresh coat of paint, and Bitty planned to keep cutting the grass on the softball fields at least once a week until he had to leave. That was a job he could fit in early in the morning or in the late afternoon even when he was at camp.

The thing was, Bitty was going to need money this year. Train tickets to Providence wouldn't buy themselves.

When he had talked to Jack the night before, he told Jack his plans for the day: buy fruit and other supplies, and work out the best way to efficiently produce pies for sale in his mother’s kitchen.

Jack had chirped him a little -- “Isn't it hot enough there? You have to have an oven on all day too?” -- but then Bitty had explained how much money he could make.

Then he felt foolish. He was talking about making $100 a week to a NHL hockey player, who was guaranteed to make well into seven figures in the next few years. 

But Jack didn’t chirp him about that.

“I get that,” he said. “You want to be able to support yourself doing something you love. This is a start. Are you going to put it on your vlog?”

Once he worked out the best way to do it, Bitty would vlog about it, he supposed. The vlog brought in money -- a very little bit of money -- from ads, but even that was something.

Later that evening, when Bitty set up his camera on the counter to show -- again -- the proper way to weave a lattice for the top of the blueberry pies, he remembered teaching Jack how to do it for their class. Maybe he should send Jack a link to this vlog post? Jack might take that as permission to go back and look at everything. That could be embarrassing.

But this thing with Jack, it wasn’t a fling, Bitty thought. Not for him, and not for Jack. Jack was risking more than Bitty at this point. Maybe it would show Jack how much he trusted him.

When Bitty finished the vlog, he posted it and then copied the link and texted it to Jack with this note: “Save this in case you ever want to make a lattice crust again.”


	6. May 23: Jack

May 23: Jack

Jack sent Bitty photographs of his kitchen. A shot of the stove, the refrigerator, the countertops and the cabinets and the sink.

If he’d ever thought about the kind of pictures he would send his boyfriend (if he ever thought he’d have a boyfriend while he was playing hockey), glamour shots of kitchen wouldn’t have made the list.

But this was Bitty, not some nameless, faceless idea of a boyfriend. Jack had never wanted a boyfriend, per se, but _mon dieu_ , Jack wanted Bitty.

He sent the pictures with a note saying, “Could you record your vlog here?”

Because Jack, after checking with Bitty that it was OK for him to watch, had spent hours watching Bitty bake, listening to Bitty talk, learning about Bitty. He saw his kitchen in Georgia; he saw his dorm room for the first time, because Jack would never have deigned to visit it when Bitty was a freshman; he saw his room at the Haus and the Haus kitchen. Those segments made Jack feel like he was sitting at the table, watching Bitty make desserts for the team. They made him calm.

The earliest episodes, when Bitty was still in high school and looked impossibly young, made Jack feel protective. He’d heard enough from Bitty to know that public high school in Georgia had not been a friendly environment for him, and he’d built himself a safe haven out of pie crust. The early ones at Samwell made Jack cringe. He knew he’d been an asshole. He told himself that it had been for Bitty’s own good. But seeing how it had affected Bittle made him face the fact that even then, he hadn’t known how to handle this small, bright boy, who challenged Jack’s notion of what a hockey player should be.

When he came to the vlog where Bitty talked about how he knew better, knew to “never fall for a straight boy,” Jack smiled ruefully. He’d worked so hard to keep Bittle believing that; he’d wasted so much of their time together.

By sending him the link, and then confirming that yes, Jack had his permission to watch all of it (“But don’t you dare chirp me for things I said when I was 16, Mr. Zimmermann!”), Bitty had let him into his life in a way Jack had never expected.

Inviting Bitty to live that life, at least sometimes, in his home seemed the least Jack could do.


	7. May 24: Bitty

 

May 24: Bitty

By the time Bitty made it to his room Sunday night, he was wondering how he was going to survive the summer.

It had been tolerable until today, but today was Sunday. That meant church in the morning and family dinner in the late afternoon, it was just a little more Georgia than Bitty was prepared for.

In general, Bitty liked church. The music was good, and his parents’ congregation wasn’t too conservative -- the minister preached more about social justice than sexual morality -- and Bitty didn’t think the Jesus the minister talked about would have a problem with people loving one another.

Bitty wasn’t sure how far that attitude extended into the congregation.

“Well, hello, Dicky,” Mrs. Peters said. “Just back from that school up north? Look at you. I bet the girls are all over you.”

That was the thing: No one said anything outright hateful about gay people. Instead, they acted like gay people simply didn’t exist. Before he’d gone to Samwell, that hadn’t really bothered Bitty. Now it did.

Dinner with aunts, uncles and cousins wasn’t much better. His mother had announced that Dicky’s friend, Jack Zimmermann, an actual professional hockey player, would be coming for a visit.

“Oh, is that the one you said was so handsome?” his aunt Melanie asked.

“Oh, Mel, you should see his father,” his mother giggled.

Bitty wanted to disappear.

Finally, after they were gone and the dishes were dried and put away, Bitty flopped on his bed, computer already on his lap and his phone in his hand, waiting for the answering text from Jack saying that he was ready to Skype.

It took about 10 minutes before the text chimed, and Bitty opened his laptop and connected the call.

When the picture blinked on, Jack was seated in front of the camera, shirtless, his hair damp from a shower and curling around his temples.

Bitty had already opened his mouth to complain about the hell that was Georgia, but at the sight in front of him, he just gaped.

“Bittle?” Jack asked. “Everything OK?”

Bitty shut his mouth and swallowed before saying, “It is now” and giving Jack a long look.

Jack smirked a bit.

“See something you like?”

“Oh, my God, Jack, that is so cheesy,” Bitty giggled.

Jack laughed, too, and then looked more serious.

“I mean it, Bitty. You looked upset at first,” he said. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, really,” Bitty said. “I just forgot what it was like having everyone ask if I had a girlfriend. Oh, and I think my aunt wants to set you up with a girl who works in her office. I think we could make out in front of them and they still wouldn’t acknowledge that we could be together. And they’re the nice ones.”

“Well, we could make out at least,” Jack suggested. “But it doesn’t have to be in front of anybody.”

“You don’t know how much I want to,” Bitty said. “I know we’ve changed in the same locker room for two years, but looking at you like this, knowing that I _can_ look, that if we were together I could _touch_ you -- it’s so different.”

Bitty could feel the heat radiating off his face. He must be as red as a fire engine, but he was determined to talk about how he felt. His mother had always told him that you shouldn’t have sex with someone unless you could talk about sex with them, and he definitely wanted to have sex with Jack. At some point.

“I know what you mean,” Jack said, and miracle of miracles, he wasn’t chirping Bitty. His eyes were drinking the picture of Bitty in. “I spent so long not letting myself look at you, because if I did, I’d have to admit you were beautiful. And I was afraid you’d realize how much I wanted you.”

“You wanted me?”

“I want you,” Jack said. “I want to kiss you and touch you and make you feel good. I want to feel your hair and your skin. I want to hear the sounds you make when I’m touching you. I want you to touch me.”

Bitty squeaked, and swallowed, and looked at Jack’s blush.

“Me too," Bitty said. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and I never thought you would want me. I think about running my fingers through your hair and over your face. I want to kiss your hands, and your neck, and your shoulders, and your mouth. Definitely your mouth.”

That mouth -- that mouth that had kissed Bitty on Monday -- that mouth smiled at him. Then it yawned. 

“You’re tired, Jack,” Bitty said. “I know you’re getting up at some ungodly hour. Go to bed. Think of me if you want to.”

“ _Bonne nuit,_ Bitty,” Jack said. “ _Fais de beaux rêves.”_


	8. May 25: Jack

May 25: Jack

Jack settled back in his chair, a cold can of orange La Croix in his hand and the sun warm on his face. 

Around him, there were conversations going on, about summer plans, the quality of the public schools in Providence, and hockey. Always hockey.

Providence had bowed out of the playoffs weeks earlier, but the handful of players who were at George’s barbecue couldn’t get enough of the two conference final series. Tampa had taken a lead in the back-and-forth series with the Rangers the day before; the series between the Anaheim Ducks and the Blackhawks looked like one for the ages with both double- and triple-overtime games in the first four.

The Memorial Day gathering was small -- maybe a dozen people? -- and quiet, and Jack thought he could do this. He could sit on the patio and sip at his fizzy water and occasionally throw in a comment about hockey, because if he knew anything, that was it.

He’d arrived on George’s doorstep bearing brownies (Bitty had used the recipe on one of his earliest vlogs, when he was maybe 15 years old, and he said even then that it was suitable for beginners) and an apple pie from the recipe he’d learned with Bitty in the fall.

He’d sent Bitty pictures.

Bitty responded with a string of emojis that included a thumbs up and heart eyes.

 _Is that my brownie recipe?_ Bitty texted. _I can’t believe you went that far back._ (Blushing emoji)

George’s wife, Sandra, opened the door, and when she caught sight of the clearly homemade baked goods, she looked behind Jack as though she thought there must be someone else there.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” she said.

“My mother always told me not to arrive empty-handed,” Jack said. 

“Are those old family recipes?” Sandra asked, leading Jack through the house and placing the desserts on the dining room table as they passed it.

“Not really,” Jack said. “I learned to make the pie for a class, actually. I got the brownie recipe from a friend from school who loves to bake. He said it was easy.”

“Well, lucky us,” George said, appearing at the door with a plate of burgers and sausages. “Help yourself to some food. Most everybody is out back.”

The group was a good mix: enough couples that it felt like a grown-up gathering, enough singles that Jack didn’t feel out of place. George had suggested that it would be a good way to ease into socializing with his new team.

The players who were there -- Snowy, who came with his wife; Mashkov, who was on his own; a couple of others -- made a point to include Jack in the hockey talk. 

“Maybe that’s us next year, yeah?” Mashkov said, talking about the teams still playing into June. 

Mashkov looked at Jack. “You have to eat more to last that long. More protein.”

Jack almost spit out his water.

George laughed. “Come on, Alexei. He’s got all summer to get ready. And you need to leave the nutrition to the nutritionists.”

All afternoon, Jack wondered how Bitty would have reacted to things people said, wanted to share things with Bitty. He’d avoided kegsters not so much because of the alcohol as because of the number of people. He just never knew what to say to them. Somewhere along the way, he realized that he never felt like that with Bitty.

This wasn’t a kegster, though. The people wanted to bring Jack into their group, wanted to like him, wanted him to like them. Jack gamely did his part, laughing when they chirped him about his baking skills, pointing out that the Blackhawks had won their overtime games, so maybe the Ducks’ heavy hitting wasn’t working for them.

When he left, he closed the door to his car and sighed, resting his head against the sear. Then he pulled out his phone and texted Bitty.

“Apparently, I’m a good baker,” he typed. “If I’m good, what does that make you?”

Bitty sent back a smiley face and asked, _Did you have a good time?_

“It would have been better with you there,” Jack texted. “Are you home? Can we Skype when I get home?”

 _Looking forward to it,_ Bitty typed.


	9. May 26: Bitty

Chapter 9

May 26: Bitty

Bitty shrugged his shoulder against the side of his face, trying to get some of the sweat off without using his hands. 

Maybe today wasn't the best day to record a vlog about the many uses of blind-baked pie shells.

The morning had dawned sunny and warm, and Bitty headed out to cut the fields at the high school as soon the grass would be reasonably dry. When he came home, he had to mow the lawn for Coach before “messing around in the kitchen,” as his father put it.

Mama was going to be out most of the day, so once the yard work was done, Bitty showered and fixed himself a sandwich and a tall glass of tea while he came up with a half-dozen pies he could make.

Then he set his camera up on its small tripod on the counter and set to making pie shells.

He had enough dough that he could purposely make some mistakes and then show how to correct them. That could be another post. 

Seeing the pictures of Jack’s pie yesterday (and brownies!) reminded Bitty of what it was like to bake with Jack. Jack wasn't totally clueless in the kitchen, but Bitty had definitely had to take the lead on their final projects. It turned out that Bitty got an education in what mistakes people make, which made for better instructions when Bitty demonstrated a recipe. His favorite strategy: mix up twice as much dough as you'll need. That way, if you overwork it when you roll it out and have to throw it away, you don't have to start from scratch. If you don't end up needing the extra, you can freeze it for later … or just make two pies.

Bitty snickered to himself when he realized there was only one pie in the picture Jack sent. That boy.

But Bitty wasn't having an easy time of it either, shuttling his dough between the refrigerator and counter and oven in an effort to keep it cool before baking. 

Once the last of the shells were in the oven, Bitty prepped fillings for banana cream, lemon meringue, chocolate, custard, strawberries and cream and key lime. 

He narrated as he stirred fillings on the stove, whipped egg whites, then washed the bowl and whipped cream. There was probably enough here for at least three posts, he thought.

When the lemon meringue had baked and last cold pie was chilling (and Bitty thanked God again that his parents had a second refrigerator in the garage) Bitty packed up his camera and took a shower. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start editing; now he wanted to talk to Jack.

It was too early to Skype; Jack was supposed to be getting PR training today. But he could text.

_Spent the day baking. Missed you._

Sooner than he expected, Jack replied. _Miss you too. I_ _miss your pies, but I miss you more_.

Bitty took a deep breath, reminded himself that he was allowed to flirt with Jack now, and texted back. _Tell me more. What did you miss?_

Jack replied quickly again.

_I'm on a break from a meeting. Tell you tonight?_


	10. May 27: Jack

Jack rolled onto his back and stretched, then reached over to his night table to check the time on his phone.

7:30.

He’d overslept by an hour and half.

Well, maybe not overslept exactly. He was supposed to skate with a few of the Falconers in the afternoon, just an easy get-to-know-each-other session, and he wanted to get a workout in first. He knew he still had plenty of time for a run and to hit the gym.

Even without early morning commitments, though, Jack usually woke early, by 6 a.m. at the latest. He liked the quiet of the morning, before anyone was up. He always had.

Then, over the past two years, he’d gotten used to spending his mornings with Bittle. First there were the early morning checking practices, which had helped him overcome his fear his first year. Then, at the beginning of Bittle’s second season, it was right back to square one. But that time, it hadn’t taken as long for Bittle to get the confidence to keep skating when someone was coming at him. Because he trusted Jack more? Maybe.

They’d kept up the early morning sessions through the season, using them to skate and check and practice shots as often as not. There was a reason Bittle always seemed to know where Jack was. There were hours and hours on the ice together.

Then, somehow, Bittle had become Bitty, and he would be in the kitchen when Jack came back from a run, with the coffee ready and something for breakfast on the stove. They had never talked much then--sometimes Jack thought Bitty managed to cook while he was still mostly asleep--but as graduation loomed, those mornings had taken on something of a glow. Jack knew he would miss them. Miss Bitty.

Now they were together, but separated by, what, eight states and a thousand miles? How would those mornings in the kitchen have been different if Jack had understood what he was feeling earlier?

They would be together again, though. It would be a little more than a month, and Jack would see Bitty, see his home and where he grew up. Until then, they had texts and Skype. 

Last night, when Jack sat in front of his laptop, Bitty was the one without a shirt on. His skin had that golden hue that made Jack think he was glowing, and Jack could see the freckles on his shoulders. He should wear more sunscreen.

But that wasn’t what Jack thought when he saw Bitty for the first time last night. What he thought was that he wanted to reach through the screen and touch him, feel his skin to see if it was as warm and soft as it looked. 

“So you miss me?” Bitty said. “You were going to tell me what you missed.”

There it was in Bitty’s eyes: the spark of want that Jack knew was burning in his own expression, the same as the look that Bitty had given him when he had sat in his desk chair in nothing but his boxer briefs after his shower Sunday.

Jack wanted to tell him to put some clothes on before Jack embarrassed himself. Jack didn’t want Bitty to ever wear clothes in his presence again.

“I miss seeing you not through a screen,” Jack said. “I miss being able to see the little hairs on arms and on your face, and hear you breathe. I miss the way you always smell like sugar and vanilla. I miss touching you, even just bumping shoulders.”

Jack swallowed. “I’d say I miss kissing you -- I do -- but we only ever kissed the day we left. I want to kiss you enough to say I miss it.”

The mischievous grin was gone from Bitty’s face and his eyes shone.

“Oh my God, Jack,” he said. “How can you say things like that? Everyone thinks you’re this unemotional hockey robot, and then you come out with the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Jack shrugged.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “Like a lot. A lot a lot.”

“Me too,” Bitty said.

“What I think I realized is that this is all my fault,” Jack said. “You liked me for a while, right? I mean, like this. Sometimes you’d look at me, and when I looked up, you’d look away, and I didn’t know what it meant, but you looked sad. And what you said on your vlog, that was about me? If I’d told you earlier, maybe our timing could have been better.”

“No, Jack,” Bitty said. “I mean, no, it’s not your fault. Yes, I’ve had feelings for you for months at least. It’s not like I ever said anything to you, even after I suspected you maybe weren’t entirely straight. I just couldn’t see you ever liking me like that.”

“Bitty, if you knew how much I wanted to reach out and touch you right now, to put my arms around you and touch your hair and your shoulders and your chest … I want to know how your skin tastes, and how it feels under my tongue. I want to be able to see all of you at the same time, to see if you’re wearing anything at all.”

Bitty’s skin had gone from gold to pink.

“Jack, I want all that with you, too. I want to know what your skin feels like, and I want my fingers in your hair. I want to hold you and know you don’t want to get away. I was sure you were leaving me behind after graduation -- you didn’t have any reason to keep in touch, and I know you don’t do much social media. I never said anything because I thought it would make things awkward, even if you weren’t actually repulsed and even if you tried to let me down easy, and I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. But when you graduated, I thought that would happen anyway. I’d just be someone you used to know, that weird gay kid who played hockey and baked and really should have spent more time studying.”

“You should spend more time studying,” Jack said. “And you should eat more protein and use more sunscreen. You need to take care of yourself, because I can’t be there all the time, and I want you to do well in school and hockey and to have a long, healthy life and to understand that you are amazing and beautiful and I never intended to walk away from you, even if we couldn’t be like this.”

Bitty had gone from pink to nearly red with the compliments, and he responded with a chirp.

“Always my captain, eh?”

“Always yours,” Jack said. Then to break the silence: “So do you have anything on?” 

Bitty moved the laptop to show his boxer briefs, the line of his cock clearly visible.

“See what you just did to me?” he said. “It was worse when you didn’t have your shirt on.”

Jack took off his shirt.

Bitty moved the computer so it was showing his face again.

“I’d tell you not to do that, but I really like seeing you that way,” Bitty said. “I really want to see you that way in person.”

“Me too, Bits,” Jack said.

Even thinking about their conversation made Jack’s morning erection twitch. He reached down and stroked himself, thinking about what it would be like with Bitty watching. What it would be like to have Bitty doing it.

When he was done, he texted Bitty. _I slept in. Guess you’re rubbing off on me. ;-)_

He grabbed a banana and left for his run before Bitty texted back.


	11. May 28: Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty encounters someone who brings up bad memories of high school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: The tags have changed, and there are trigger warnings for homophobic language, bullying and an implied threat of rape. It's brief and not very explicit, but if you don't want to read it, stop at the asterisks and then start again at the second set. Know that Bitty felt very threatened by Shawn Clark.

Thursday, May 28: Bitty

Bitty had always liked the high school more when it was empty. In the summer, when he came to work with Coach, the lights would be off and the halls would be dimly lit with sun slanting in from the classrooms. The floors were clean and shiny, and as long as he stayed away from the cafeteria, it didn’t smell like spoiled milk.

But when Bitty made his way to Coach’s office, tucked off a corridor next to the gym, he realized the school wasn’t quite empty.

Shawn Clark was coming towards him.

Bitty steeled himself, called on everything he’d learned about moving his feet and keeping his head up from Jack’s checking practices, and kept walking towards the office.

“Hey, Little Bittle,” Shawn said, giving Bitty a small smile. “If you’re looking for your dad, he’s not there. I just stopped to say hi, but he wasn’t in.”

“That’s all right,” Bitty said. “We were supposed to meet here at 3:30. I can wait a few.”

Shawn was directly in front of him now, and it was like facing a brick wall. He was at least as tall as Holster, and at least as broad as Jack. But from up close, wearing a tank top that left little to the imagination, Eric could see that he carried a little more fat with his muscle than the best hockey players did. Shawn might be bigger, but Jack was definitely in better shape. Bitty felt a perverse sense of pride.

“So how’s school going?” Shawn asked. “You’re playing hockey somewhere, right?”

This was Shawn trying to be friendly, and Bitty supposed he could play along. Who was he fooling? He supposed he didn’t have much choice.

“Samwell,” he said. “It’s in Massachusetts. And yeah. My team went to the national championship game last year.”

Georgia, where Shawn played football, hadn’t even made the top 25 in the AP poll for the end of the football season, something Coach saw as crying shame.

“That’s cool,” Shawn said. “Are the other players like you?”

Bitty looked at him blankly for a moment. Like him how? Gay? Blond?

“Small, I mean,” Shawn clarified.

“Oh, no,” Bitty said. “Most of them aren’t as big as football players, although some are.” (Bitty thought his father would have killed to have Holster on his team) ”But speed and conditioning and coordination are just as important. I’m the smallest on the team, but I’m also the fastest.”

Bitty thought he was justified in that brief moment of bragging.

“That’s cool,” Shawn said again. “Good for you, Little Bittle. Tell Coach I said hi. I’ll try to drop by again.”

When Shawn left, Bitty sunk to the floor against the wall next to coach’s office.

********

That was a far more civilized exchange than he thought he’d ever have with Shawn Clark. Shawn Clark, who glared at him in the school bathroom his sophomore year and said, “You know what happens to faggots, don’t you? They get fucked in the ass, and they like it. You know any faggots who want to get fucked, Little Bittle?”

The other boys -- members of coach’s team -- had laughed. After that, when Shawn saw him and thought he could get away with it, he’d say things like, “Remember what happens to fags?” in a hissed whisper. “Know any faggots around here?”

********

Bitty had never told anyone. He couldn’t tell his mama. He couldn’t even repeat those words to her. He couldn’t tell Coach either, for all he was sure Coach wouldn’t have approved of Shawn’s behavior. The thing was, he was pretty sure Coach didn’t approve of gay people either, and it would have raised awkward questions that neither Bitty nor his father seemed to want to address. And if Coach had said anything to Shawn, everybody would have known that Bitty tattled. That wouldn’t help anything. So he had hung on, finished high school and escaped to Samwell.

He was still sitting on the floor when Coach walked up and unlocked his door.

“You OK, Junior?” he asked. “Not used to working outside in this weather yet?”

“No, sir,” Bitty said. “I just want to go home and shower and rest.”

 


	12. May 29: Jack

Jack looked at the list of community and hockey organizations that the Falconers supported.

There were kids’ hockey leagues and a foundation that helped support kids whose families couldn’t easily afford the costs associated with the sport. There were groups formed to help people with various diseases, from breast cancer to ALS, some affiliated with the many hospitals in Rhode Island. There was even an animal shelter that the Falconers’ players had done a calendar for. And there was You Can Play.

Jack hadn’t intended to become involved with You Can Play. He thought that if he did -- if he recorded a video message to be played in the stadium, say -- he’d be pointing a big flashing arrow at himself that said “Gay.”

Which was ridiculous, because he wasn’t gay, really. He liked girls and boys, although he didn’t seem to be attracted to too many people of any gender. But he knew that to a lot of people, having a boyfriend would mean he was gay, period.

That was OK, as far as it went. Bitty was gay, and for Jack, that was a wonderful thing. But a lot of people wouldn’t see it that way, and even for people who did, Jack would be the poster boy for gay athletes. He didn’t want to be the poster boy for anything except being a good hockey player. That was enough to worry about. Once he had that, then he could think about the rest of it.

But after talking to Bitty last night, he was considering it. He didn’t know what happened yesterday, not exactly. When Bitty had Skyped him, though, he hadn’t been his usual self. He wasn’t exasperated and frustrated, like on Sunday. He wasn’t flirting and teasing, or rambling about recipes, or chirping Jack about how most people didn’t put so much effort into jobs they hadn’t started yet. He was just quiet. Subdued, even.

“What’s the matter, Bits?” Jack asked him. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” Bitty said. “Just overdid it painting outside today.”

Jack had spent most of the last two years watching Bitty. He knew what he looked like when he was tired. Truth be told, when Bitty was tired and happy -- or tired and angry, or tired and stressed -- he tended to run on at the mouth, have even less of a filter than normal. 

This wasn’t happy Bitty or angry Bitty or stressed Bitty. This Bitty was sad.

“You seem sad,” Jack said, feeling stupid for stating the obvious. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Bitty said. “No, I’m fine. Tell me about Providence.”

So Jack told him about his new city, how it was one of the oldest in the United States, capital of a colony that was started to offer a haven to those who didn’t fit elsewhere. How it had fallen on hard times in the early 20th century, how after some rough decades with falling fortunes and rising organized crime, it had reinvented itself as a creative and intellectual center. It had a reputation as one of the most gay-friendly cities in the country, he noted.

“What’s it like there for gay people?” Bitty asked.

“I guess I don’t really know?” Jack asked. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to clubs or trying to meet people. But you see same-sex couples around. Nobody pays them any attention.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Bitty said.

“Did something happen today?” Jack asked. 

“No, nothing happened today,” Bitty said. “I just wanted to be reminded that not everywhere is like here.”

“Do you want to come stay with me?” Jack asked. “You could come back with me after the Fourth. Or if that’s not soon enough, I could buy you a ticket. You’re always welcome here.”

“Jack, honey, thank you for the offer, but I can’t do that,” Bitty said. “I promised I’d work camp, and what would I tell my parents? Besides, we haven’t even been on a date yet. I don’t think we’re ready to move in together.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them. “Bitty, if you need to get out of there, you can come here. You could come here even if we weren’t dating. I have an extra bedroom. You can tell your parents whatever you want and I’ll back you up.”

“No, it’s all right,” Bitty said. “I do appreciate that, but it’s OK. I lived here my whole life before Samwell, and I do like working with the kids at camp. I can’t disappoint them, and I don’t want to disappoint my parents. I know they were looking forward to having me home. And they want to see you. My mama wanted to know your favorite foods. I just told her to make sure there’s lots of protein.”

“All right, Bitty,” Jack said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“And Jack” --now Bitty was grinning-- “we don’t have an extra bedroom. You’ll have to bunk in with me.”

Jack had just laughed.

“I’m not sure how we’ll manage, eh?” he said.

Now, in the light of the morning, he thought about what You Can Play could mean for kids like Bitty. He still didn’t want to be the gay poster boy, not before he ever played an NHL game, but he knew someone whose opinions about hockey carried far more weight than his.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled.

“ _Papa_? I have an idea.” 

 


	13. May 30: Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty sells out. In a good way.

This week the peaches were perfect. Bitty had an in with the produce manager at the supermarket and was able to bring home nearly 25 pounds, enough for a full dozen pies, on Friday. He’d made extra pie dough earlier in the week, so it was just a matter of peeling and slicing the peaches, mixing the filling, rolling the dough and baking.

Yesiree, Bitty told himself when he started. Just that. Still, he had a few pies in the freezer from earlier that week, and if he sold out today, he’d do well this week.

Bitty arrived early and displayed his pies and set his chair behind the table.

He had just sold his first two pies -- a peach and a French silk from the cooler -- when he got a snap from Lardo, showing Shitty on a chair on a beach. A strategically placed beer can did nothing to obscure the fact that Shitty was nude except for sunglasses and a snap-back.

Bitty messaged back, _Hope he’s wearing sunscreen._

The response must have encouraged Lardo, because his phone immediately dinged.

_How’s life in the steamy south? Need us to come rescue you?_

Bitty smiled. He had friends now, and while he loved his childhood home, it didn’t chafe as much now that he knew he wasn’t trapped.

_Selling pies at the farmer’s market. Baked a dozen peach yesterday. Maybe I’m not quite sane?_

Lardo responded immediately. _Maybe?_

Then he wondered if Lardo’s remark about rescuing him was as innocent as it sounded. 

_Have you talked to Jack lately?_ he texted.

 _No, bro,_ Lardo said. _Not for a week at least. I think Shitty texted with him Tuesday. Have you talked to him? Everything OK?_

Bitty responded, _Fine as far as I know. He’s coming to visit over the Fourth of July. We’ll see how he handles the heat._

He put his phone down as a shadow fell over the table.

“Dicky Bittle! Did you make all these pies in your mama’s kitchen?”

Mrs. Conway, who lived on the next block from his parents and taught at the elementary school.

“Yes, ma’am, I did,” Bitty said. “You’ve had my pie before -- you know they’re good.”

“Oh, I know, Dicky,” Mrs. Conway said. “How many times did you walk away with the blue ribbon at the county fair? And your grandmother before you. It was like she passed her baking skills on to you.”

“Well, now, you have to give my mama some credit, Mrs. Conway,” Bitty said.

“I’m not saying anything against your mother, young man, but you and your grandma have a gift,” Mrs. Conway said. “The rest of us can just be glad that you choose to share it. How much did you say these were? Thomas and June and the girls are coming tomorrow, and this will get me out of making dessert.”

“$15, or two for $25. I’ve got some icebox pies in the cooler, too. Maybe a peach and a banana cream pie, too?”

“That sounds good. Do you have any strawberry rhubarb? Bert likes that,” she asked.

“Those are good, but I don’t have any today. If you want to order one, I can have it ready for you next weekend,” Bitty said. “Or during the week if you need it earlier.”

“No, next Saturday’s fine, Dicky,” Mrs. Conway said. “Look, here’s Margaret Diener coming. I’ll just get out of your way.”

Mrs. Diener, Bitty’s sophomore year English teacher, chatted to him about how he was doing at Samwell and reminisced about the desserts he had made for bake sales before leaving with two peach pies. Then there was a younger woman he didn’t know, and Betty Moore, who ran the library guild. She took a pie off the table and also asked if she could order three pies for a guild luncheon on Wednesday.

“Probably two fruit pies and a cream pie?” she said. “I’ll leave the flavors up to you -- make whatever you think will be best. The lunch is at 11:30 Wednesday in the community room at the library. Do you think you can drop them off?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said, writing down the details.

By noon, both his table and his cooler were empty and Bitty was ready to pack up and go home.

He picked up his phone to text Jack about his successful morning and saw Lardo’s return message from their earlier conversation.

 _Yeah, bet it’s gonna be HOT down there._

Bitty rolled his eyes, figuring that if Lardo was teasing him like this, she had no idea what was going on.

 _Says the person sending me pictures of a naked man,_ he responded.

Then he thanked God all the messages were over Snapchat, because there was no way people in Madison would understand about Shitty’s difficult relationship with clothing. 


	14. May 31: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes a photo-tour of Providence

After a good morning text to Bitty, Jack scrambled some eggs and ate them with toast and peaches. He was sure the peaches weren’t as good as the ones Bitty had used for his pies, but they reminded him of Bitty anyway. He snapped a photo and sent it to him.

Then he grabbed his camera and went for a walk. There were some river views he wanted to capture in the morning light, places he’d seen on his runs when he didn’t have his camera. Maybe even some shots of the sun shining on the dome of the state house. 

Along the way, he stopped for coffee, and looked around at his neighborhood, trying to see it through Bitty’s eyes. 

There were plenty of coffee shops and a few small groceries within walking distance. The restaurants that served breakfast were open, mostly, while the nightlife spots were buttoned up tight. 

He headed north along the Providence River towards downtown, into Waterplace Park, where he had come with Tater and Snowy and his wife for Waterfire on Friday. That was definitely something he’d like to do with Bitty. He’d brought his camera and shot pictures of the fires themselves, of the street artists, of the sheer variety of people. In August -- this summer, before the season started -- he probably wouldn’t even be recognized.

He headed back through the Brown campus, spared a thought for Shitty starting classes in the fall at Harvard, and picked up a sandwich for lunch before returning home.

He uploaded his pictures to his computer while he ate, selecting the shots he wanted to tell a story, cropping them to emphasize the composition, putting them in order to take Bitty on a photographic tour of the city. There was his favorite coffee shop, the front of the diner where he’d already stopped twice, once for breakfast and once for lunch. The river with its boat traffic, the lights and crowds at Waterfire, the familiar feeling of a campus at Brown.

Tater and Snowy and Lisa, his wife, were in a couple of pictures, too, so Bitty would know Jack had made an effort to spend time with people.

Jack wanted Bitty to like Providence. In the back of his mind, he hoped Bitty liked Providence enough to want to live there, with Jack, after he graduated. But he didn’t even want to acknowledge that thought to himself yet.

Bitty was right: they hadn’t even been on a date (what about all the times they had coffee or froyo together?) They’d kissed once (three kisses, but who was counting?) and communicated by text and Skype since then. Sure, they seen each other naked dozens of times -- shared locker rooms will do that -- but Jack knew he’d been careful to never be caught looking, and he was pretty sure Bitty had a strict eyes-down policy as well. The most sexual contact they had was when Bitty let Jack see him in his underwear Tuesday night.

That had made Jack’s heart speed up and his mouth go dry. 

He hoped he hadn’t been moving too fast when he told Bitty he could stay for the summer. At the time, he really did want to offer him an option to whatever was making him sad, but he also knew that he’d very much prefer if Bitty moved into his room -- made it their room -- instead of taking the spare.

Bitty had sounded better the last couple of days, especially yesterday, when he crowed over the success he’d had selling his pies to longtime friends and neighbors. He really couldn’t have been surprised by that, could he? 

Jack was happy Bitty was happy, and he was looking forward to seeing the area where he grew up. But he wanted to Bitty to come to love Providence, too.

He put his pictures, now in slide-show form, in Dropbox, and sent Bitty the link.

“Just wanted to show you around my new hometown,” he said in the accompanying message.


	15. June 1: Bitty

Bitty put his earbuds in before climbing aboard and firing up the mower. If he got the fields cut early, he could move on to painting the railings in the front of the school before noon, in time for them to dry before the late afternoon thunderstorm that was expected. Then he could stop at the supermarket to pick up the supplies he would need for the library guild’s pies on the way home.  
After lunch, he planned to stop by the rink to confirm his camp assignments with Karla. He usually worked with the older figure skaters, the ones who knew enough about the sport to be impressed by his regional championship, and the youngest hockey players. Who knew? Maybe this year they would want him with the older hockey players, too. Ending the season second in the NCAA wasn’t bad, even if losing the final game still stung.  
If he was lucky, there would be some unassigned ice time this afternoon and Karla would let him get out and shake the rust off.  
As Bitty drove the mower in lazy arcs across the outfield grass, he let his mind wander back to the photos Jack had shared. The Providence Jack had showed him -- Jack’s Providence -- was a city on a human scale, not as busy as Boston or Atlanta, but big enough to offer some diversity. There were coffee shops, and benches by the river, and leafy green trees and and it looked blessedly cool.  
Or maybe that was the influence of the sun beating down on the back of Bitty’s neck.  
Bitty wondered what it would look like in August, or in September and October, when the leaves changed color. It would be beautiful, he thought.  
Over Skype last night, Jack was trying to reassure him.  
“No pressure, Bits,” he said. “But I feel like I talk about Providence a lot, and I wanted you to know what it looks like.”  
“Jack, I already said I’d come up a week early in August,” Bitty had said. “I’m sorry if I made it sound like I didn’t want to come the other day, and I do thank you for the offer. But for me to leave Georgia now, when everyone is expecting me to stay, well, that would raise questions I’m not ready to answer.”  
“Bitty, you don’t have to tell me if --”  
“Not questions from you,” Bitty said. “I’ll tell you everything. Anything you want to know. But let’s wait until we can be together, and maybe for more than a few days? I don’t want to waste the time we get. But if I were to leave a month early with no explanation -- I just couldn’t do that to my mother.”  
Jack had understood, Bitty thought. At the very least, he’d been distracted when Bitty wondered aloud how much of Providence he’d get to see in August, since he planned to spend lots of time in Jack’s condo.  
“Why didn’t you send me pictures of your bedroom, Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty chirped, feeling the blush rise on his cheeks before the words were all the way out of his mouth.  
Jack had smirked and picked up his laptop, slowly panning across his very plain room. The walls were a pale cream, the floor dark wood with off-white rugs, the curtains and the comforter on the large bed a deep blue. The furniture was a shade darker than the floor, a tall chest and a shorter dresser and a pair of bedside tables that looked like they all came as a set. One table was bare; the other held an alarm clock with a dock for Jack’s phone, a book, and a picture of Bitty.  
He was in the Haus kitchen with the sun coming in the window, his hair shining, a smudge of flour on his cheek. He was laughing, probably at something Jack had said.  
Bitty had fallen silent for a moment, then tried for a light tone. “You sure that’s the picture you want there?” he asked. “I’m a mess.”  
“Yes,” Jack said. “That’s the one I want.”

When Bitty put the mower away and headed to the parking lot, he took a good look around before setting up his equipment. His old truck was one of only a handful of vehicles there; now that school had been out for a full week, most of the teachers were done packing up for the summer. Out here, he’d have plenty of warning before anyone could approach him.


	16. June 2: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets social media training.

Jack stared at the table in front of him. Before him lay an iPhone and iPad, and there was an open laptop on the table in front of the seat next to him.

In that seat was Tina, the Falconers’ social media specialist. Tina was small, dark-haired, and talked non-stop. Kind of a like brunette Bittle. Jack liked her, but he wasn’t sure she returned the sentiment.

“Wait, you were in college until last month, and you don’t have a Twitter account, or an Instagram account?” she sounded disbelieving. “Do you have a Facebook?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“Is it a personal page or a fan page?” she asked.

“Uh, personal, I guess,” Jack said. “I’m friends with my old teammates and my aunts and uncles and cousins.”

“So, less than 100 people?” she asked.

“Less than 40,” he said.

“Ay, Jack, my mom is more active on Facebook than you,” Tina said. “My grandma, too, I think. You can keep in touch with your friends that way, as long as you keep your privacy settings up. But would you mind friending me? That way I can see what you’re posting?”

“Is that necessary?” Jack asked. 

“I’m afraid so,” Tina said. “Anything you post -- even to a few dozen people -- has the potential to go public and go viral.”

“OK.”

“Now, we need to get you active on some more public platforms,” Tina said. “I understand you are a photographer?”

“It’s a hobby,” Jack said. 

“I think Instagram would work well for you,” Tina said. “I can actually do the posting for you if you send me pictures, just things that you like, but won’t be too personal.”

“So personal, but not too personal?”

“Exactly,” Tina beamed, as though a not-too-bright pupil had done well on a quiz.

“Now, for Twitter, send me what you want to tweet and I can post it,” Tina said. “Also, I’ll send you things I think you should tweet for your approval.”

“Isn’t that really time-consuming?” Jack said. “I have a friend who’s on Twitter, like, all the time.”

“Who’s that?” Tina asked.

“Uh, Bittle,” Jack said. “Eric Bittle. Teammate from Samwell.”

“Oh, Eric Bittle! I follow him,” Tina said. “I started when you were still at Samwell. He has really strong social media game. But he probably shares a bit more than someone in your position would want to. Are you still in touch with him?”

“Yeah, I am,” Jack said. “He lived across the hall from me last year, and our parents got to be friends. His mom invited me for the Fourth of July.”

“You might want to tell him to go easy on the posts about you,” Tina said. “It’s easy for people to get the wrong idea.”

Jack sighed.

“Oh, come on,” Tina said. “It’s not so bad. If Eric ever comes around, I’d love to meet him. He’s a cutie.”

Jack didn’t know how to respond to that. Eric was cute -- more than cute -- but Jack wasn’t sure he should agree.

He settled for a smile, and said, “I’ll let him know.”

Then he took a breath.

“What about Snapchat? I do that with my Samwell friends sometimes.”


	17. June 3: Bitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a homophobic slur.

Bitty pulled the cart with the red paint, the drop cloths, the brushes and rollers out of the maintenance shed and dragged it to the front of the school. One more day of painting and he’d be done. Then another day of general cleanup, take Friday off to bake, and start camp next week.

After that, he’d just have to come back to mow the softball fields, but he didn’t feel vulnerable up on the tractor.

Ever since he ran into Shawn Clark, Bitty had been uncomfortable. Just seeing Shawn had brought back all the reasons Bitty wanted to leave Georgia in the first place.

Bitty chided himself for letting Shawn Clark get to him so much. It wasn’t even the conversation -- Shawn hadn’t said anything out of line. Too much. Since then, Bitty hadn’t had any problems. He’d seen some students at a distance, but the only people who spoke to him were the custodian, a couple of teachers and the principal, Dr. Mayhew.

Dr. Mayhew had stopped to chat on Tuesday, on her way into the school to get something from her office. “I understand you had a great hockey season, Eric,” she said. “Your father was so proud, I thought his buttons would pop off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said.

Bitty had spent an hour on the ice both Monday and Tuesday afternoon, and he’d baked the library guild pies Tuesday night. Now he wanted to get a start on the last section of railings before he dropped the pies off. If he got enough done, he’d be able to head for the rink again when the ice was vacant between 3 and 4 p.m.

He let his mind wander to Jack and the Instagram account he was starting, the routine he wanted to practice at the rink, Jack and what his Twitter account would be like, what kind of pies he should bake for Saturday, and Jack -- just _Jack --_ while he was painting.

At 11 o’clock, Bitty set down his roller and wiped his hands off on a rag. The supplies would be safe enough until he got back.

He went into the faculty lounge where he'd stashed the pies in the fridge before heading out. As he turned from the driveway onto the road that would take him into town and to the library, he saw another truck approaching, slowing to turn into the school. Shawn Clark was driving, and next to him was Brandon Gray. 

Bitty froze for a moment. He should have put his paint away. Should he go back? He really didn't want to be alone around them, and he had to drop off the pies. Mrs. Moore was a paying customer, and he had promised delivery by 11:30. Fuck it, Bitty thought, letting the profanity make him think he was brave. He kept driving.

Mrs. Moore loved the pies. Bitty had made her a peach and a blueberry, and a banana cream and lemon meringue.

“I know you only asked for three, but I was working on the meringue technique, and I wanted to practice,” Bitty explained. “If you really only need three, you can take that one home for your family. I'll only charge you for three, though.”

“Well, Dicky, that's real nice of you,” she said.

“It's no problem, ma’am,” Bitty said. “Just, I made up some business cards. Can I leave some here?”

The cards, for “Eric Bittle, Pies, Pastries and Baked Desserts”, featured a drawing of a pie Lardo had done for him. He'd just picked them up at the quick-print shop yesterday.

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Moore said. “And I'll put one on the bulletin board in the library, too.”

If Bitty stopped for a sandwich and ate it in his truck before going back to the school, it wasn't because he didn't want to run into Shawn and Brandon. He just needed a change of scene.

When Bitty turned into the parking lot at the school, he was relieved to see Shawn’s truck wasn't there. But then he saw the custodian, Mr.Costello, standing and staring at the painting materials, hands on his hips.

Bitty was already hurrying to explain as he swung out of the truck and slammed the door.

“I'm sorry I left the painting stuff out,” he said. “I just had to run a quick errand and I thought I'd be right back and no one was around but then I ended up grabbing lunch and --”

“Do you know who did this?” Mr. Costello broke in.

Now Bitty saw what Mr. Costello looking at. The letters were about two feet high, in bright red paint on the pale concrete. FAG. All in capitals.

“Uh, it wasn’t there when I left,” Bitty said.

“I know you didn’t do it, Eric,” Mr. Costello said, and his tone was almost gentle. “I’m just asking if you know who did. Was there anyone hanging around?”

Bitty’s first instinct was to say no, he wouldn’t have left the paint out when he left if there were people around. If no one knew Shawn and Brandon were there, they couldn’t blame Bitty for tattling on them.

But Bitty was so tired of it. He was tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of being scared that someone would hurt him or humiliate him just for suspecting that he was gay, when there was nothing wrong with being gay, when he was happy being gay, happy with who he was. He was better off than Shawn and Brandon.

His hesitation made the decision for him.

“Someone was here. Who was it?” Mr. Costello said.

“When I was leaving to drop off my pies at the library, I saw Shawn Clark and Brandon Gray turn into the parking lot,” Bitty said. “But I didn’t see anything that happened after that. How do we get paint off concrete anyway?”

“That’s probably enough for someone to have a word with them,” Mr. Costello said. “And they might show up on the security camera. I have to call Dr. Mayhew, and she’ll probably want to call the police to document this, so we can’t get rid of it just yet.”

“Oh,” Bitty said. “Should I finish this?” He gestured to the last section of railing.

“Nah, you go ahead home,” Mr. Costello said. “I’ll take care of it while I wait for Dr. Mayhew.”

Instead of going home, Bitty headed for the ice rink, retaping his stick while a mom-and-tot figure skating class ended. When it was over, instead of cuing up his skating music and flying over the ice, he dragged out a net and a bucket of pucks and started shooting.

The slur painted on the sidewalk in front of the school was meant for him. Mr. Costello hadn’t said anything, and Dr. Mayhew probably wouldn’t. They would treat it like it was just stupid kids being stupid kids. But Bitty knew it was meant for him, and it made him angry. How dare they use a word designed to offend people, to mean him? How dare they intrude on his place of work? How dare they try to scare him?

He took out his anger on the pucks, hitting them as hard as he could. They weren’t his prettiest shots, but they whistled into the net.

After an hour, he gathered the pucks back into the bucket, put them back in the hockey office and went home. Maybe he could have a shower before dinner. Maybe he could wash this off, so his parents wouldn’t see how upset he was. Because they didn’t know, and if he wasn’t gay, having someone write that word would just be an annoyance, not an attack.

It didn’t work. As soon as he opened the back door, his mother was talking to him.

“Dicky, Dr. Mayhew called here and said she needs to talk to you,” she said. “She left her cell phone number. You’re supposed to call her back right away.”

“All right, Mama, I will,” Bitty said. “You have the number?”

His mother handed him a slip of paper with the number written down.

“Did something happen while you were working today?” she asked.

“Sort of,” Bitty mumbled. “Someone used the paint and wrote some graffiti on the sidewalk while I was dropping off the pies.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” his mother said. “Did you have to stay late to clean it off?”

“No, Mr. Costello said he would do it,” Bitty said. 

“What did the graffiti say?” his mother asked.

“I’d … rather not say, Mama,” Bitty said. “I’ll call Dr. Mayhew back from upstairs.”

At dinner, Coach started asking questions. “Nancy said Shawn and Brandon were seen there,” he said. “I don’t know why they’d go to the school. They both graduated two years ago. Did you see them, Junior?”

“Not to speak to, sir,” Bitty said. “I saw them turning into the lot when I was leaving.”

“Well, maybe they just wanted to use the field to get some conditioning in,” Coach said. “They might have seen who did it. There’s no call for anyone to be using words like that.”

“What's going to happen to them?" his mother asked. By now, she knew what the graffiti said.

"We don't know it was them," Coach said. "Sal just said they were in the parking lot. But Junior wasn't gone that long, and the paint was still wet, so maybe they were there when someone did it, and they saw. The police will want to talk to them."

Bitty was speechless. Of course Shawn and Brandon would do that. They said that -- and worse -- all the time, in Bitty's very personal experience. He had been relieved when Dr. Mayhew called and told him the police were looking into what happened, and that Mr. Costello would let the word out that he had seen Shawn and Brandon. 

"We'll check the security tape, Eric, but if they're not there, you might have to talk to the police. Is that all right?"

When Bitty first told Mr. Costello, he thought he'd have to tell everybody. This was better than he expected.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"But don't worry, Eric," she said. "We'll try to keep your name out of it."


	18. June 4: Jack

Thursday, June 4: Jack

12:07 a.m. Jack saw the time at the bottom of the screen before he closed his laptop. He closed it carefully and gently, so very carefully.

He wanted to slam it shut. He wanted to rage at someone. He wanted to go to Georgia and … and what? Wring the the necks of those _crosseurs_? Ride in like a knight on a white horse to save his damsel in distress? _Tabarnak_. Would doing something like that make it clear to everybody that Bitty was more than a friend to him? Wouldn’t a friend stick up for his friends? Jack didn’t know where that line was anymore, not with Bitty. And _calisse de crisse_ , Bitty didn’t need Jack to save him. Bitty could take care of himself.

But nobody could stand alone against everybody around him. Maybe Bitty could stand up for himself, but he needed somebody to support him, somebody to have his back, and Jack wasn’t there and the team wasn’t there and it didn’t sound like his parents were doing a very good job.

What did it mean that the tears caught in Bitty’s throat not when he said what happened, but when he talked about the custodian and how kind he’d been?

Jack knew what it meant: that Bitty hadn't expected kindness. Bitty, who was kindness personified, expected not to receive kindness in return. Bitty talked all the time about Southern hospitality, about how he'd been taught to care for people, to comfort and nurture them. Bitty who made pie and breakfast and listened to anyone who came and sat in his kitchen. Bitty who distributed bottles of water at kegsters even when he was drunk himself. Bitty who baked to make people feel better, and who kept people's secrets.

What kind of people did he grow up with? And how did he turn out so … so Bitty?

Jack stopped to breathe, an attempt to interrupt the spiral of his thoughts. Instead of focusing on his anger, he focused his thoughts on his boyfriend.

He knew as soon as Bitty appeared on his screen that something was wrong. Bitty had texted earlier than usual, saying, “Talk now? I want to go to sleep early tonight.”

Bitty started to tell him about practicing his shot, but Jack knew his heart wasn't in it. It didn’t take much pressing for Bitty to tell the whole story, about how these _trous des culs_ who harassed him all through high school came back to do it again, and when he wasn't there, they left their message in paint.

How they didn't even know for sure he was gay, although he supposed they suspected it, but whether he was or not, that was the worst thing they could think of to call him.

“I'm not embarrassed to be gay, Jack,” Bitty said, as though he thought he was letting Jack down. “I'm not. The best thing I ever did at Samwell was come out to Shitty and the rest of the team.”

“The best?” Jack had been aiming for a light tone, something to remind Bitty that it would be OK.

“Well, after playing hockey, maybe,” Bitty said before going on. 

“I don't think it's even about being gay, really,” Bitty said. “Well, it is, but I think they wouldn’t mind so much if I was miserable? It's about not being like them, not wanting to be like them. If I played football and liked to fish and beat up people who were smaller than me, they'd never notice I wasn't into girls. It's not like they have girls lined up around the block wanting to go out with them.”

“Can't see why,” Jack said.

Bitty took a breath. “They think I don't want to be like them because I think I'm better than them.”

“You are better than them,” Jack said.

“God help me, I think so,” Bitty said. “If only because I wouldn't treat anyone like that. My parents raised me better.”

“What about your parents?” Jack asked.

“I don't think they know it was personal,” Bitty said. 

“I mean, you talk about how they raised you,” Jack said. “Do you think they would react badly if they found out you were gay? If it comes to that?”

“Badly? Like kick-me-out-and-cut-me-off badly?” Bitty considered. “No, not really. They love me, even if Coach doesn't always know what to do with me. It's just, I don't want them to think less of me, think there's something wrong with me. Even if they didn't, they would be the parents of the gay kid, and that would be tough, especially for Coach. It's always seemed better to just not bring it up.”

Jack thought about saying that not bringing things up landed him in rehab, but didn't. Bitty’s problems were his own, and so were his ways of coping -- or not -- with them. At least Bitty was talking to him.

“You know you can still come here, right?” Jack said. “If that's what you need to do to be safe. Or even if that’s just what you want to do. Even if you don't want to say that to your parents.”

“I know, and I appreciate that, Jack,” Bitty said. “If I have to, I will. I promise. But I want to come see you because we want to see each other, not because I'm running away from home.”

“It doesn't matter why, Bits,” Jack said. “I always want to see you. The more of you the better.”

“Tell me what we would do tonight if I was there,” Bitty said.

So Jack talked about cooking together in his kitchen, watching a movie, curling up in bed and holding each other. After a while, Bitty, who was lying on his side looking at the screen, yawned.

“Good night, Bitty,” Jack said. “Sleep well.”

Then he closed his computer, carefully, and breathed.


	19. June 5: Bitty

By the time Friday morning rolled around, Bitty was ready to be done with The Incident at the High School. That’s how he thought about it, capital letters and all.

When he got up Thursday, later than he had all week, his parents were still in the kitchen, his mother making French toast, his father drinking coffee and reading the paper.

His dad offered to drive to the school with him, as he said he had some work to do in his office, but Eric demurred.

“I’ve got to go to the restaurant supply store to get more disposable pie tins when I’m done,” he said. “I’ll drive up to Athens and probably go to the market for fruit while I’m there. Y’all need me to pick anything up for you?”

He spent Thursday morning at the school, helping Mr. Costello move desks out of classrooms so the floors could be waxed, and then headed north. The trip was uneventful, although it did make him wonder what his life would be like now if he went to college at UGA, 40 minutes from home, instead of Samwell.

Jack texted him six times during the day, about three times more than normal, telling him funny things about the “rookie training” he was going through (“Do they think I don’t know how to set up a bank account?”) and Bitty knew he was just checking in.

At dinner, Coach said that Clark and Gray apparently had painted the graffiti. They were seen on the security tape, not actually doing the painting, but taking the paint and roller from the cart and then returning them. When the police confronted them, they admitted it.

Coach shook his head in disappointment. “I really wouldn't have thought it of them,” he said.

Bitty kept looking at his plate.

“So what's going to happen to them?” his mother asked.

“Nancy said they agreed to pay $150 in restitution, in exchange for no charges being filed,” Coach said. “She said the police weren't too interested in pursuing it since no permanent damage was done and no one really saw it before Sal cleaned it up.”

Yep, no one, that's me, Bitty thought to himself.

Jack had been affronted when Bitty told him what happened.

“So they get off for $75 each? That was a hate crime, Bitty,” he said. 

“Not in Georgia,” Bitty said. “There is no hate crime law in Georgia.”

But that was yesterday. Today Bitty was cuing up his baking playlist and pulling out supplies for two dozen pies: a dozen peach, because they were at the height of their season; half a dozen strawberry-rhubarb, including the one for Mrs. Conway, and half a dozen blueberry. He also planned to have an order form on the table in case anyone wanted to get something different.

He'd made the dough and set it to chill while he peeled the peaches and prepared the fillings. He rolled the dough for the first two pies, filled them with peaches and put them in the oven. He was pulling the next four disks of dough from the refrigerator when his phone chimed with a text alert. 

Jack had said he'd text when he had a break from his public relations meetings, so Bitty grabbed it immediately.

All the text said was, _Check out this link Instagram.com/zimmermannj15/_

Bitty clicked it immediately and saw what he could now identify as a shot of the Providence River, probably in the early morning judging by the angle of the light. The caption read, “Good morning, Providence!”

The picture was lovely, Bitty thought, but he was transfixed by the username. 

He texted back _!!!!!!15!!!!!!!_

 _I hope you don't mind,_ Jack responded. _The team thinks it's bc I graduated and came into the league this year._

A pause.

_That's not why I picked it._

Bitty sent back a string of heart emojis.

Then, _It would be too obvious if I took 1 this year._

Jack took a moment to text, _But then I wouldn’t be wearing your number! That way, it'll be like you're on the ice with me._

If Bitty’s hips had a little extra swing, and his steps had a little extra bounce, through the rest of a long day of baking, well, he didn't think anyone could blame him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Equality Georgia, Georgia is one of five states that don't have a hate crime law.


	20. June 6: Jack

Jack had gone for a run along the river, stopped for coffee on his way back, made breakfast and started his laundry before he heard the text alert.

He picked it up immediately, hoping it was Bitty. They’d already exchanged “good mornings,” and Jack knew Bitty would be setting up his table at the farmer’s market. But maybe if he finished setting up early, he’d have a moment.

It wasn’t Bitty. It was Shitty, asking, _Free to Skype now?_

 _Sure,_ Jack said, and fetched his laptop from the bedroom. Shitty was online and logged into Skype by the time Jack’s computer came to life, so he connected the call.

Shitty was talking almost before Jack could see him.

“Brah! I got your text yesterday. Sweet pic, by the way. Lardo really liked it. But 15? Bitty must be having kittens to share a number with you,” Shitty said.

“He was pretty excited,” Jack said. “I texted him, too, just to make sure he didn’t mind, but he seemed pretty happy.”

“Of course he was, brah!” Shitty said. “He’s got the same number as a hockey god!”

“Shitty, I haven’t even played an NHL game yet,” Jack said.

“OK, the same number as one of his hockey gods,” Shitty said, “because you’re definitely the best player he’s ever played with, and you know how he looks up to you.”

Jack wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Finally, he said, “Bittle holds his own.”

“Yeah, Jack, I wasn’t trying to put him down,” Shitty said. “I meant in terms of hockey. I know you and Bitty are tight, and he can give as good as he gets. Did you talk to him yesterday?”

“Yeah, a little,” Jack said.

“How’s he doing down in Georgia?” Shitty said. “Lardo chatted with him last week, and I’ve texted him a time or two, but I haven’t gotten much more than polite responses. You think everything’s OK with him?”

Jack really wanted to tell Shitty the whole story. He wanted Shitty to share his outrage, to tell him it was ridiculous that such incidents were tolerated in 2015, that Bitty shouldn't have to deal with things like that when he had options.

But he and Bitty hadn’t discussed telling people about their relationship, beyond that idea that they were going to keep it private for now. He couldn’t say anything without talking to Bitty first. Besides, he suspected that while Shitty would be outraged by what happened, he would insist that Bitty had to make his own choices.

“I think he’s putting up with a lot of the stuff that made him want to come to Samwell in the first place,” Jack said, deciding that could say a little bit. “Remember how scared he was when he came out to the team? It’s hard, after being out at school. He’s not out even to his parents down there.”

“That must be tough," Shitty said. “I know I’m not what my parents want me to be, but at least we all know it. Maybe I’ll give him a call later.”

Jack thought about asking Shitty not to tell Bitty that he’d said anything, but felt like that would be a breach of trust.

“You do that,” Jack said. “He needs to know we’ve got his back. But he’ll be busy until at least noon. He was baking pies yesterday to sell at the farmers’ market.”

“Yeah, Lardo said he was doing that last week,” Shitty said. “I guess his pies are pretty popular. Good for him.”

“How is Lardo?” Jack asked. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”

“She came with my family to the cape last weekend,” Shitty said. “I told her it would be an act of mercy. I haven’t seen her since Monday, but we’ve texted a few times.”

“Maybe I should call her,” Jack said.

“She’d like that,” Shitty said. “She said the team chat was blowing up over your instagram yesterday.”

“Was it? I haven’t really been paying attention to it,” Jack said. “Maybe I should drop in?”

“Brah.


	21. June 7: Bitty

Chapter 21

Sunday, June 7

Bitty relaxed as he buttoned his shirt and tied his bow tie. His slacks were clean and pressed, his shirt was crisp against his skin and his hair was neatly combed. If a little gel was helping it stay just right, well, his male relatives need never know.

This was one reason he liked going to church on Sunday: dressing up was mandatory, and in the summer heat, nobody batted an eye if he deviated from the khaki and navy blue that he thought made most of his Samwell teammates look like they were wearing school uniforms when the they attempted to dress to impress. Well, not Ransom. He had a sense of style.

Today was shaping up to be even better than the normal Sunday, because instead of coming home to cook after church, the family was gathering at MooMaw’s house over in Monroe. When Bitty’s family first moved to Madison, when he finished the ninth grade, she had come to church and had dinner with them every Sunday. But as she got on in years, as she would put it, she usually stayed closer to home, even though Bitty knew his mother had offered Coach’s services as a Sunday chauffeur.

“I am not Miss Daisy and I don’t need a driver,” MooMaw sniffed. “Unless it’s a really good party, when a designated driver would be most welcome.”

She’d delivered that line with a wink at Bitty. 

Bitty’s Aunt Barbara lived down the block from her and saw her every day, and Bitty knew his mother saw her every week or so. But between working at the school, baking, getting ready for camps, and, well, Jack, Bitty hadn’t yet seen her this summer. He felt a pang of guilt over that. She was the one who had baked pie after pie with him when he was a child, teaching him her specialties and the secrets she used to make their flavors sing in the long days he spent in her kitchen. She never seemed to think he would be better off playing football outside, or that liking things to look nice was strange.

“A good cook will never starve,” she told Bitty when he was 7, and showed him how to use an egg wash to make the tops of his pies shine.

When he arrived with his parents after church, MooMaw wrapped him up in her arms, the top of her head about level with his eyes.

“Eric Richard Bittle,” she said. “I have missed you.”

“I missed you too, MooMaw,” he said, taking in the cloud of white hair that surrounded her head like a halo, the finely wrinkled skin around eyes that were still sharp. She seemed a little smaller, somehow, a little more frail, but the spark that always made him feel warm near her was still there.

“Look at you,” she said. “You’re all grown up. You’re a fine man, you know.”

After sweet tea was poured all around, Coach went out to the patio to get the grill going and Bitty headed to the kitchen to peel peaches, not for a pie but for cobbler that the family could eat fresh out of the oven.

After the fruit was peeled, Bitty set it on a cutting board on the table. His grandmother sliced it and mixed it with flavorings and a little cornstarch. Bitty put the filling in the oven while she started on the biscuit batter. When that was done, Bitty pulled the peaches out, dropped the batter in dollops on top, and put it back in to bake.

All the while, she talked. She told old family stories he’d been hearing since childhood, but he also heard some new ones. This time, she talked not just about how her husband had swept her off her feet when she was a girl, but how her family hadn’t liked him at first.

“I told my mother I’d climb out the window and run away to marry him if I had to,” MooMaw said. “I didn’t care if his church was different than mine. I guess they decided they couldn’t stop me, because they let the wedding go ahead. He turned out to be their favorite son-in-law.”

“MooMaw, he was their only son-in-law,” Bitty couldn’t help interrupting.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Sometimes parents don’t quite understand what their children see in the people they love, but if they love their children, they come around.”

Bitty couldn't think of any way to answer that, so once the cobbler was in the oven, he went out to check on the progress of the chicken.

Bitty pulled the cobbler from the oven, all bubbly and sweet, just as Coach was serving the chicken and the rest of his family was loading up their plates. He came out in time to snag the last drumstick and a thigh, and spared a thought for Jack, probably making do with a dry grilled (“If it’s in the oven it’s broiled, Jack!” “But the recipe calls it grilled!" ) chicken breast.

He took the seat next to MooMaw.

“Your mother’s just been telling me that you’ve been selling my pies at the farmers’ market over in Madison,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty replied. “I hope that’s OK. I sold out the last two weeks.”

“Of course it’s OK,” MooMaw said. “You’re a better baker than I ever was. People should want to eat what you make.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d say that,” Bitty said. “I learned everything from you.”

“I got you started, but you learn something every time you bake,” MooMaw said. “That’s as it should be.”

“Maybe I should give you a share of the money?” Bitty said. “Like a royalty?”

“No, no, no,” MooMaw said, but she was smiling, like she enjoyed the thought. “There is one thing I’ll ask, though. Come here, so I can tell you.”

Bitty leaned closer.

“Only bake for people that you genuinely want to enjoy your food,” she said. “If you don’t want someone to take pleasure from what you made, it’ll turn out bitter. I’m not saying you have to like everyone, but you have to at least wish them to have that bit of enjoyment.”

Bitty wasn’t sure he believed her, but he nodded anyway. He was pretty sure he’d never disobeyed that instruction anyway; he certainly wanted his family and his teammates to like everything he made, and they had been the primary beneficiaries of his baking largesse until now.

“Well, I know we both want everyone to enjoy the cobbler,” Bitty said, standing up to get it from the kitchen. He raised his voice so he would be heard by everyone at the table. “How many of y’all want ice cream with your cobbler?”


	22. June 8: Jack

Mondays, Jack acknowledged, were going to be tough for the next few weeks.

Technically, they were an off-day for him, when he didn’t usually have any team commitments. Other weekdays, there were meetings with management, rookie boot camp or PR training, usually combined with an optional skate with the other rookies and whichever veterans were around.

There weren’t usually meetings on weekends either, but there were occasional social events or charity commitments. Those weren’t Jack’s favorite things to do, but at least he wasn’t looking at a blank page on his calendar. Even when he had no commitments, weekends just felt different. The rhythm of the city around him changed, and he could enjoy walking around and feel a part of things without any pressure.

But Mondays, most people went back to work. There was activity in the morning, some around lunchtime, and again in the evening. In between, his neighborhood was quiet. Too quiet, maybe.

That was when Jack missed Samwell, missed the Haus, missed having the constant academic grind. When he was in school, there was always another assignment to get started, another project to research or plan. When he tired of that, there would be someone in the Haus to play Mario Kart with, or someone who wanted to go for coffee or froyo or someone just to sit with in the Reading Room.

For the last year, there had always been Bitty. Bitty in the kitchen, swinging his hips to his music while he baked or cleaned up. Bitty with one of his ridiculous syrupy coffee drinks (“That is to coffee as ‘juice drink’ is to actual juice, Bittle.”). Bitty smothered in a huge comforter, sitting on the roof and looking at the stars. Lord, how had he not understood what it meant that his camera seemed to find Bitty in any room, any setting? Not understood that feeling of warmth that came over him when Bitty smiled? Not understood the joy that made him laugh when Bitty chirped him?

He’d almost let that slip away, almost walked off the graduation stage and into the rest of his life without finding out that Bitty wanted him just as much.

But even if Bitty wanted him, for most of today, Jack was alone. He had a meeting this afternoon with his financial team -- he still thought making him sit through some of the rookie sessions was ridiculous; his parents had covered all that and more with him over the last seven years -- but outside of that, he could go the whole day without speaking to another human being until he Skyped Bitty before bed.

He didn’t even have the usual number of texts from Bitty to look forward to. Today was the first day of camp for Bitty, so he’d gotten up early (“5:30 isn’t that early,” Jack had said) to mow the softball fields before breakfast. Then he had a group of six 11- and 12-year-old figure skaters, all girls this time, to take charge of from 9 a.m. until 4 p.m.

“Isn’t that a long time for kids to be on the ice?” Jack asked, knowing from previous conversations that these campers weren’t aiming to compete at an elite level.

“It’s camp, Jack. They’re on the ice for an hour and a half in the morning and an hour in the afternoon,” Bitty said.

“What do you do for the rest of the day?” Jack asked.

“Lunch and snacks take up more time than you’d think,” Bitty said. “They get some free time at the park near the rink, too, and we play some off-ice games. They also get some time dance time, and we spend a little time doing choreography. They’ll do a simple synchro routine for their parents on Friday, and those who want to can work on their own routines. It’s plenty to do, believe me.”

Jack knew that once training camp started, even more when the season started, he would miss the leisure time he had now. But he found himself almost envying Bitty, who had his parents at home and coworkers and kids at camp and a town full of people who knew him. Some of them were first-class assholes, absolutely, but a lot of them seemed to like Bitty, judging by the reaction he got when he brought his pies to the farmer’s market and the pleasant interactions he related to Jack.

That was silly, Jack reminded himself. Bitty felt alone, too, unsure how welcome he would be even in his parents’ home if he shared who he was at the most basic level with them. Bitty had told Jack that he’d never actually lied about his sexuality to his parents. “If they asked me directly, I don’t think I could tell them I was straight,” he’d said. But Bitty had never volunteered that he was anything but straight, leaving him in a limbo of uncertainty. Did they suspect he was gay? Did they wonder why he’d never had a girlfriend? Would they be OK with him liking boys? Were they happier not knowing, being able to pretend he was straight?

Jack had snorted and said that was one benefit of having been through his overdose and all of the therapy that followed. He had no big secrets from his parents, and he was pretty sure that there was nothing he could tell them that they wouldn’t accept and keep loving him, even when he forgot how to love himself.

Bitty pulled him out of his thoughts at lunch with a video of himself on the ice, all in black lycra and figure skates, spinning impossibly fast with his arms over his head. _I gave my phone to one of the kids to record this_ , he texted. _We’re going to look at it later before I teach them how to do it. But I thought you might like to see it._


	23. June 9: Bitty

Bitty unlaced his skates and tugged them off, rotating his toes and wiggling his ankles.

He wanted to reach for his phone to see if Jack had sent anything, but at the moment he was surrounded by six pre-teen girls: Amelia, Emily, Frannie, Maddie, Sarah and Dawn.

They were quiet at the moment, pulling off their own skates and pulling their tights up around their ankles so they could put flip-flops on. 

Bitty had forgotten what a whole morning in figure skates felt like, and what it felt like to be in charge of so many kids. The girls were great, they really were. Amelia and Emily had been in his group last year, and he knew the others from being in other camp groups. They enjoyed figure skating and would likely compete locally, maybe join synchro teams in high school or college. Sarah was probably the best of the bunch, skating-wise, but she’d have to put a lot more time in if she wanted to go anywhere.

“Coach Eric, is it true you went to regionals as a junior?” Sarah asked as he shoved his feet into slides and brushed his fingers over the phone in his pocket. “What was that like? Were you scared?”

“Oh, gracious, was I scared?” Bitty said. “Really scared? No, I don’t think so. I was nervous, and afraid I’d fall or make a fool of myself, but what’s the worst that would happen? My mama would still love me.”

“Is that what you told yourself?” Amelia asked, even though she knew the answer from spending last summer’s camp sessions with Bitty.

“It sure was,” Bitty said. “And it’s what my mama told me, just so I’d be sure.”

“What did your coach tell you?” Emily asked, playing along, since she knew the answer.

“Katya just told me to practice harder, so that my body wouldn’t know how to do it wrong,” Bitty said. “If you do it right enough times, it gets to be automatic. Which is why we are going to work more on our footwork sequence when y’all come back from lunch.”

He smiled at their groans.

“Then, when we get our ice time this afternoon, you can each pick one or two things of your own that you want to work on,” he said. “Friday is coming sooner than y’all think.”

“Coach Eric,” Dawn chimed in, “will you show us one of your old routines? My mama said she saw you skate once, and you were really good.”

“Well, I was a lot better then than I am now,” Eric said. “But if we have time, I’ll show you a little bit. Now Miss Karla is waiting to go outside for lunch. I’ll see you when you’re done.”

As soon as the girls went out the front door towards the playground across the street, he went in the locker room, changed from leggings to shorts, and headed to the old picnic table for staff next to the back door. No one else was there right now -- Karla and Sam had all the girls for lunch today, and Cassie, the other leader, didn’t like going from the cool of the rink to the heat of the Georgia sun, so she usually spent her breaks inside.

Finally Bitty could take his phone out and look at his text exchanges with Jack.

 _How come you never did that at Faber?_ Jack had asked when Bitty sent him the video of him doing a simple scratch spin. _You look amazing. I want to see that in person._

 _I didn’t go Samwell on a figure skating scholarship, Mr. Zimmermann,_ Bitty responded. 

_Doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun,_ Jack said.

 _Did I read that right? Jack Zimmerman is talking about having fun on the ice? Do I need to borrow Holster’s glasses?_ He added a couple of chick emojis.

Jack brought it up again during their Monday night Skype call.

“You don’t know how many times I watched that video clip,” he said. “It was amazing. You must have been phenomenal when you were competing.”

“I was pretty good, but not like Olympics-good,” Bitty said. “If I really pursued it, maybe I could have competed internationally, but I was never going to be one of the stars.”

“Well, I think you were good. Will you show me when you come here?” Jack asked.

“Sure, if you want,” Bitty said. “I can probably get permission to use the rink here on the Fourth, too.”

“I’ll bring my skates,” Jack said.

Bitty was thinking about how to approach Karla about getting access to the ice on the holiday weekend when a new text from Jack popped up.

_Tina liked my Instagram picture. I’m supposed to post at least one a week._

_That’s all??? Bitty texted back._

_We can’t all be you,_ Jack sent.

_I might have another video later, if you want to see it. The girls want to see me skate._

_Should I be jealous of these girls? Anything they want, they get from you,_ Jack said.

 _Including orders to practice,_ Bitty said. _At least I don’t run them into the boards! But listening to all the middle-school drama, I am so glad I’m past that._

 _I don’t remember much of middle school. Let’s see, I would have been a bantam at that age. I don’t think I was home a lot,_ Jack said

 _I bet you just had hockey drama,_ Bitty said.

_No, I just had hockey._

_Now you have me,_ Bitty said. _You want anything from me, just ask._


	24. June 10: Jack

Jack settled onto Tater’s couch, his glass of AleSmith IPA on the table next to him. There were plates and napkins and cutlery on the coffee table, along with a tray of cut vegetables. Tater was carrying platters of Indian food in from the kitchen. There were chicken and shrimp dishes, a cool cucumber salad, rice and soft, pillowy bread. 

He wasn't sure about this. He’d spent some time in the weight room that morning with Alexei -- the guy was built like an ox. He could probably bench press an ox -- and when he was leaving, Alexei stopped him.

“Zimmermann, you going anywhere to watch the game tonight?”

“No,” Jack said. “Probably not going anywhere further than my couch.”

“You could come by my place,” Tater said. “I’ll get some food. You like Indian?”

“Uh, sure, I guess,” Jack said. “Text me your address?”

“OK. You bring the beer.”

Jack didn’t know how much he liked Indian food. He’d had it a few times, but usually only when someone who already knew his tastes ordered. And how much could a man the size of Alexei Mashkov drink? Jack had an occasional drink, but his usual style was to nurse one beer for the evening. Why did Mashkov invite him? Just because he was a single guy, new in town? Was he just being friendly? Trying to get know the rookie? Trying to find out if the rumors he’d heard were true? What rumors had he heard?

And then there was Bitty. Going over to Tater’s condo for the game meant he’d only be able to Skype Bitty for a quick goodnight when he got home. He’d be tired, and Bitty would probably be exhausted after a day at camp, and they both had to be up early. But their nightly conversations were gradually becoming more … intimate … in all senses of the word. Last night, Bitty had been shirtless on his bed, leaning against the pillows, when the call connected. While they talked about Jack’s Instagram post for the week (a shot of an empty rink, captioned “Home Sweet Home”) and how Bitty could meld six skaters of various skill levels into one synchro unit, Jack had feasted his eyes. Truth be told, he was hoping for the same view tonight.

Jack texted to apologize as soon as Tater left, but Bitty hadn’t responded until his campers left at 4. When he did, it was with an actual phone call.

“Jack, sweetheart, of course you should go watch with Alexei,” Bitty said. “It’s good for you to make friends on your team. I wish I was closer; I’d bake you some cookies to take with.”

“If you were closer, you could come with,” Jack said.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” Bitty said.

Jack fell silent for a moment before saying, “I’d rather be watching the game with you.”

“Oh, you’re sweet, but I need to bake tonight,” Bitty said, maybe a little too brightly. “I need to get started if I want to have enough for Saturday.”

Once the game started, Jack relaxed into watching it. Alexei understood the game on a visceral level, like most players, and was unabashed in his support for the Lightning, especially when they put Vasilevskiy in net for game four.

“They’re, what did they say in 2010? Too young to know they can’t do this?” he said.

Jack acknowledged the appeal of the Lightning, but predicted a Blackhawks series win.

“They’re just too good,” Jack said. “They’re deep and and strong and they know what it takes.”

“Tampa’s up 2-1,” Tater said.

“It’s the fourth win that counts,” Jack said.

Alexei -- "Call me Tater. Really, it's OK"-- looked at him with a considering expression.

“Did you want to go to Chicago?” Tater asked. 

“Chicago didn’t need me,” Jack said. “They have their core. They’re not going to break that up to take a chance on a 25-year-old rookie who’s already been in rehab.”

“Everyone here was surprised when you signed," Tater said. "Happy, but surprised. They thought you'd go to bigger team. Somewhere you know people."

"Like the Aces?" Jack said. "Vegas really isn't my kind of town."

"Or the Penguins. Your dad played there? Or Montreal. They need help."

"Montreal's a little too close to home." Jack shrugged. "I can't be my dad. And I've lived around here for the last four years. I like it. I have friends."

"You have friends on the team now," Tater said. "When I come to Providence, I know nobody, but the team is very friendly. Now the whole city recognize me."

"You are larger than life," Jack said. 

"And good hockey player," Tater insisted. 

Jack felt a flash of apprehension. He hadn't meant to imply anything about Tater's hockey skills. Was he offended? Hurt? Then Tater grinned, and Jack relaxed.

“Zimmermann -- Jack -- you need nickname -- it’s OK. We’re glad you’re on our team.”

After Chicago won 2-1, evening the series, Jack took his leave and took an Uber back to his condo.

“How was it?” Bitty asked, looking sleepy on his bed, but wearing a T-shirt tonight.

“Good,” Jack said. “Better than I thought.”

“And the food?”

“Like I said, better than I thought.”

“All right, Jack. When I come in August, you can take me out for Indian,” Bitty said. “Not too much of that in Madison.”

“I will. Good night, Bitty.”

Bitty yawned, and reached to end the call.

“G’night Jack. Love you.”


	25. June 11: Bitty

Bitty woke up before his alarm went off, already in a panic. He wasn’t sure why -- a bad dream? -- until he sat up, grabbed his phone and saw where his laptop sat next to the bed.

Oh.

Had he really said that? Had Jack heard it? Maybe Jack hadn’t heard it. If Jack hadn’t heard it, it didn’t count, right?

He tried to replay the conversation in his mind. He’d been lying in his bed, waiting for Jack to call before turning off his light and going to sleep. But he’d been so tired.

After camp, he’d gone to the market to pick up the peaches, blueberries, strawberries and rhubarb the produce manager had set aside for him. All three varieties of pie had been popular the week before. Then he’d come home and made the strawberry rhubarb pies, all six of them. While they were baking, he’d made the dough for 12 more pies.

He’d finished cleaning the kitchen just as the game was ending, and he’d gone upstairs and taken a quick shower to get what felt like a crust of sweat and flour off his skin.

Then he’d settled against his pillows with his laptop and phone, intending to watch the video he’d taken of his girls doing their synchro routine to see what was working and what needed work.

But he’d dozed off before he even got the video pulled up, not waking until he heard the alert for Jack’s call.

They’d talked for a few minutes -- Jack had a better time than he expected -- and then Bitty said goodnight as went to disconnect, and that’s when he’d blurted out “Love you.” Not “I love you.” Not a momentous statement. Just a mumbled half-sentence, like it was something he said every day. Maybe because he did say it every day in his mind.

He hadn’t even seen how Jack reacted, if Jack reacted. While his mouth was betraying him, his hand kept right on towards his keyboard, and cut the call off a half-second after he declared himself to Jack. Why couldn’t it have been a half-second before?

He’d been so flustered that he snapped the laptop screen shut and pushed it onto the chair next to his bed, so he wouldn’t have heard if Jack tried to reconnect. There were no texts from Jack yet, so he hadn’t tried to reach Bitty that way. Maybe he hadn’t heard.

Bitty groaned and got out of bed and into running clothes. He had time for a quick run before breakfast and work; maybe the exercise would settle his nerves.

Bitty was just turning into his driveway after an easy three miles when the text alert chimed. Six a.m., when he’d normally be getting up, and a text from Jack.

 _Good morning, Bitty_ and a smiley face emoji.

 _Morning, Jack,_ Bitty replied. _I’ll have you know I’ve already been for a run._

 _Me too,_ Jack said. _You were up early. Everything OK?_

Bitty paused before replying. Maybe Jack really hadn’t heard.

_Fine. Why?_

_No reason,_ Jack responded. _I’m going to make breakfast now._

Then: _Love you._

Bitty managed to stop himself from squealing out loud. Jack had heard, and he wanted to say it too. 

Bitty made three simple hearts: _< 3<3<3._

Then he wrote, just to be sure, _You didn’t have to say it just because I did. I didn’t mean to._

Jack answered, _But did you mean it? Because I did._

 _I never meant anything more,_ Bitty said. _But I didn’t want to pressure you._

 _No pressure,_ Jack said. _I didn’t say it before bc I didn’t want to scare you._

 _Not scared,_ Bitty said. _I love you._

Bitty walked on air the rest of the day. He didn’t lose his patience once with the girls, even when Sarah and Emily got into an argument over whose step-out solo should be first. He prepped his pies before supper and put the first ones in the oven after supper while he helped his mother with the dishes. He kept feeling a smile sneak onto his face at the most inopportune times, but even that made him want to smile more.

“You’re in a good mood,” Mama said, as she put the plates back away. “Did something happen?”

Bitty hoped she’d blame the flush on his face on the heat from the oven,

“No, Mama,” he said. “It’s just been a good day, and I’m looking forward to Saturday. I’m doing better with the pie sales than I expected.”

“Your father and I are so proud of you,” she said. “But don’t stay up too late.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said.


	26. June 12: Jack

Jack put his phone down and thought. On Wednesday night he’d watched the game with Tater, on their own. Now he had an invitation to watch Saturday’s game at Guy’s house, with Thirdy and Marty and Guy and Marty’s wives.

“Some of the other guys might come too,” Guy said. “If they don’t have other plans.”

Jack knew that an invitation to join the elder statesmen on the team -- players older than 30 at least, some of them with wives and kids -- was something of a command performance. There was no way he could say no, not unless he had really good excuse. He remembered his father sometimes inviting rookies over, usually when his parents had a small get-together with other friends from the team. Not every rookie was invited to the home of Bad Bob Zimmermann, and when someone was, it was a stamp of approval. It was also a test. Would he fit in? Could he get along with the older guys? With their wives?

“Um, sure,” Jack said. “I wasn’t going to do anything special.”

That was true. He would have liked to watch the game while Skyping Bitty, but Bitty’s father had started taking an interest in hockey and the game would be on in the family room, Bitty said. He would need a good reason for not wanting to watch it there.

“Should I bring anything?”

“Maybe some beer?” Guy said. “Or, wait, Snowy said you brought pie and brownies to Georgia’s a couple of weeks ago. Want to bring something like that?”

“The brownies are pretty easy to make,” Jack said. “And maybe cookies?”

“Whatever you want,” Guy said. “See you tomorrow.”

Jack picked up his phone and started a shopping list. Then he stopped and tapped on his messaging icon.

_I think I need help. I have to bake something._

The response came sooner than Jack expected.

_Oh, Lord. Can I talk you through it in about two hours? The girls are about to skate, then we have a little party._

Crisse, Jack forgot that Bitty was working and the figure skaters had their first show of the summer.

Bitty told him the night before that the show wasn’t a huge deal, it just gave the skaters something to work towards and let the parents see what their kids had been doing all week. “The last one of the summer is the most emotional,” Bitty said, “but they’re nervous wrecks before the first one.”

“Do you skate in the show?” Jack had asked.

“Lord, no,” Bitty said. “It’s their time to shine.”

_2 hours is fine. Good luck with the show._

If Jack couldn’t have Bitty, he could look at the vlog, he figured. He’d already saved the brownie recipe, so he could put those ingredients on his list.

Then he started searching through the vlog for a simple cookie recipe that he could make. The problem was, he kept getting lost in watching Bitty. Most of the recent installments featured recipes that he didn’t want to attempt, although Bitty no doubt thought they were easy. Older recipes featured a younger Bitty, not much shorter, but softer around the edges, not as muscular. Jack wouldn’t have given up the Bitty he had now for anything, but that earlier version enchanted him. He supposed that was what people meant when they said something warmed their heart. 

Finally, he gave up and googled “snickerdoodles.” He knew Bitty could produce them in next to no time, and they were always popular at the Haus.

He still had his laptop open on the counter when Bitty’s call came in. He looked like he had just gotten home, his cheeks pink and hair still styled. 

“Bitty -- is that glitter on your face?”

“Probably,” Eric said. “I was glitter-fying the girls before they skated and that stuff gets everywhere. It’s all about the sparkle.”

“Looks good on you,” Jack said, deadpan, like a chirp. The thing was, it did look good on him. 

“Haha, Mr. Zimmermann. Now what’s this event you have to bake for?”

Jack explained about the get-together to watch the hockey game, and how word got out that he’d brought dessert to George’s.

“I can do the brownies -- I still have the recipe. For cookies, I was thinking snickerdoodles. You made those all the time. Do you think I could do it?”

“That’s actually a pretty good choice,” Bitty said. “You could even put a Canadian twist on them by using maple sugar.”

“I looked online and found a recipe, but it calls for boxed cake mix --” Jack started.

“Shut your mouth, Jack Zimmermann. You will not use cake mix,” Bitty interrupted. 

“No, I know, but I couldn’t find them on your vlog. Can you give me a better recipe?” 

“Of course I can, Jack. I’ll send you the recipe so you can shop. If you can wait until tomorrow afternoon, we can bake together by Skype,” Bitty said. “Right now, I’ve got pies to finish.”

Bitty texted a link to a recipe -- what was cream of tartar? -- within minutes, and Jack headed to the store.

Later that night, Bitty appeared, once again lying against his pillows, clean of glitter and bare-chested, Señor Bun next to him.

“Two dozen more pies for tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve already had calls from people asking if I’m going to be there.”

“Good for you, Bits,” Jack said, stretching his arms over his head and gratified at the way Bitty’s eyes widened. “I got everything on your list. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. It’ll be like old times.”

“Something like that,” Bitty agreed, and yawned.

“You sound like you need to go to sleep. Is it too much with the baking and camp?”

“It’ll be better next week,” Bitty said. “It’s hockey camp, and that’s not as labor intensive. I’m getting better about prepping stuff, too. Mama helped this week by peeling the peaches while I was at work.”

“If you say so,” Jack said. “Good night, Bitty. I love you.”

“Goodnight, Jack. I love you too.”


	27. June 13: Bitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is less fluffy. No specific trigger warnings per se, but past issues are recalled.

Bitty had his table set up under a white canopy with plenty of time before the farmers’ market opened at 8. There were stacks of peach, blueberry and strawberry-rhubarb pie, with one of each uncovered and displayed. On the front of the table were order forms and business cards. Bitty snapped a picture of his table to send to Jack, then thought better and took a selfie that he posted on the team chat with the caption, “So how much would y’all pay for my pie?” followed by a winking smiley face to show he was joking.

As soon as the market opened, business was brisk, with a couple of people dropping off order forms from the week before and more people taking order forms.

He reminded everyone who stopped by that the market wouldn't be open on the Fourth of July and if they wanted pies for that weekend, they should get their orders in early. Bitty had already determined that he would take no more than 24 pie orders that week so he could get them done before Jack arrived.

Maybe next week, Bitty thought, he could vlog the farmer’s market experience. He'd have to make sure nothing identifying it as Madison showed -- he tried to keep online life (where he could be a more complete version of himself) separate from his real life, especially in Georgia.

When he had a moment between customers, Bitty checked his phone for his teammates’ responses to his tongue-in-cheek question about what they would give for his pie. 

They ran the gamut from lifelong love and devotion “plus all the money I can take my father out of” (Shitty) to “I'd totally give you dibs if you didn't already have a room at the Haus” (Holster) to “Oh my God, Bitty! Should we have been giving you money? How much? I don't have that much, but I'll give you whatever I can!” (Chowder) to “Bro.” (Lardo).

Jack, who had gotten the pictures first in a private message, responded privately as well. 

_Beautiful. The pies look good, too._

Bitty sent him back a smiley face and responded to Chowder -- “I was kidding. Of course you don't have to pay for pie. But if you ever want to get a pound of butter when you go to the store, that would be fine!”

He had just sent it off when a woman maybe a few years older than his mother walked up.

Bitty stood to greet her before he recognized her -- Penny Clark -- and behind her, her son, Shawn.

“Well, young man, I'm told your pies are the best in the county,” Mrs. Clark said. “What's best?”

She had picked up an order form and was looking at it.

“All I have right now is peach and strawberry-rhubarb,” Bitty said. “The blueberry is sold out. If you want something else, I can make anything on the form with 48 hours notice. If you want something not on the form, just talk to me. I'm sure I can probably figure it out.”

Mrs. Clark was still looking at the order form.

“Eric Bittle. You're Coach Bittle's boy? Then you must know Shawn here.”

Shawn, who had been trying to hide his 6-foot-2 body behind his mother like an awkward 6-year-old, glanced up at Bitty and down again.

“Yes, ma'am, we’ve met,” Bitty said, as neutrally as he could.

“Little Bittle -- Eric -- was working at the school that week,” Shawn said.

“Well, then, you know Shawn here never did what they said he did,” Mrs. Clark said. “My Shawn wouldn't use words like that.”

Bitty wanted to say, “Of course he would. He did every day of the three years we spent in the same high school.” Instead he said, “Would you like one of the pies I've got? They’re $15 each, or two for $25.”

“Oh, yes, I'll take one of each,” Mrs. Clark said. “I know Shawn'll eat one by himself by tomorrow night. Growing boys. I bet you're the same way.”

She handed Bitty the money and took her pies. When she turned to go, Shawn looked at him and said “Be cool, Little Bittle.”

As soon as he was gone, Bitty dropped into his chair and concentrated on breathing deeply and slowly. 

That was the moment his mother appeared, a basket of fruit in one arm and a cloth bag with vegetables in the other hand. 

“Dicky, can I leave these here -- Dicky, what’s wrong? Are you all right, sweetheart?”

“I'm fine, Mama,” Bitty said. “Just set those behind the table.”

“You are not fine,” his mother said. “I know you. What happened?”

“Shawn Clark was here with his mother,” Bitty said. “She said she couldn't believe he did it.”

He didn't think he had to explain what he meant.

“Coach didn't want to believe it either, but Shawn used words like that all the time in high school,” Bitty said. “Why doesn't anyone think he'd do that?”

“Parents always want to think the best of their children,” his mother said. “Dicky, did you mean he used words like that to you?”

Bitty couldn’t meet her eyes, so he was looking at his knees when he said, “Yes, ma’am.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “All right. Do you want to stay to sell your last pie? I have a couple more things to get, and then we can ride home together.”

Bitty nodded and started cleaning up. If he hadn't sold the last pie by the time she came back, he'd leave anyway. 

Once he got home, he'd be Skype-baking with Jack. He wished that was any other day. He didn’t know if he could put on a happy face for Jack today, and he didn’t want Jack to go over to Guy’s in a bad mood. He kept thinking of Moomaw and how she said not to bake for people he didn’t want to enjoy the food. What about if the food was already done? Well, he couldn’t do anything about that. But if Mrs. Clark called to order a pie, he’d just have to be too busy.

He sold the last pie to someone he didn’t know -- somehow, he wasn’t at all conflicted about that -- and waited for his mother.


	28. June 14: Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter, with lots of ups and downs. It earns the M rating.

Jack slept in on Sunday.

By the time he rolled over and blearily opened his eyes, the sun was long up.

Jack groaned and stood up, going to the kitchen to flip the coffee maker on before taking a shower. He wasn’t going to run today, so a shower and breakfast and then -- what?

Jack dressed, took two Advil to keep his headache at bay and sipped at his coffee, He picked up his phone.

“Shitty? You busy today? Want to come to Providence and look around? Or I could meet you in Boston. You can come here? Great.”

After he hung up, Jack exhaled and made an egg white omelet with spinach, tomatoes and feta. His culinary standards had definitely gone up since Bitty came into his life. 

Shitty said he could be in Providence by noon, so Jack had two hours to tidy up the few things out of place in his condo (Who was he kidding? Shitty wouldn’t care), do a load of laundry and run to the grocery store to get beer and snacks.

It also gave him two hours to get things sorted in his mind, because as much as he wanted to run things past Shitty, he had to be careful. He still had to talk to Bitty before saying anything about their relationship.

Bitty had seemed fine on Friday, if a bit tired. He was fine on Saturday morning, sending pictures of his stand at the farmer’s market with its stacks of pies.

He wasn’t fine Saturday afternoon.

Jack had texted him at 1 p.m., asking if he was ready to Skype-bake. To be honest, he’d expected an immediate response. Bitty didn’t usually have to be asked twice to bake, and he was doubly enthusiastic about teaching someone else to bake.

But it was 15 minutes before Bitty texted back. _Just a minute. If you’re logged on, I’ll call you._

When Bitty called, his webcam was already pointed at the counter, where the ingredients for snickerdoodles were assembled. Bitty’s face slipped in and out of the frame, as he told Jack to put his cookie sheets in the fridge (“Really? Why?” “So the cookies don’t spread too much.”) demonstrated how to cream the butter and sugars, beat in the eggs and mix the dry ingredients and add them to the butter and sugar and eggs.

Then he said, “The next part works best if you chill the dough for maybe 20 minutes or half an hour. You want to call me back? Or I could walk you through the brownies if you need it?”

Jack had been trying to get Bitty to slow down a moment and look at him, pay more attention to him than the cookie dough, since they started. He was looking for that easy way of being together that they had shared so many times in the kitchen at the Haus, whether they were baking together or Jack was studying at the table (watching Bitty) while Bitty made something. He hadn’t found it, but he figured that only a fool would get between Bitty and a baking project, and of course things were different over Skype. Something was missing. Maybe the Beyonce music?

But now Bitty was telling them they had half an hour where the cookies needed no attention at all, and Bitty seemed like he couldn’t wait to get away. That stung, but Jack didn’t want to lash out at Bitty. He’d done that enough the first season the played together.

“I already made the brownies,” Jack said. “Maybe we could just talk? I’ve got to go to Guy’s tonight so I won’t be able to call you until late.”

“You don’t have to call me tonight if it’s too late,” Bitty said.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jack said. “I just meant, instead of just taking a few minutes to say goodnight later, we could talk now, too. Tell me about the farmer’s market this morning.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, too.

Bitty hesitated, and said, “I brought pies. I sold them, It went well.”

“Did you sell out? Get more orders?”

“Yes, yes I did,” Bitty said. “Someone said that I made the best pies in the county.”

“Well, didn’t you win those ribbons at the county fair?” Jack said. “Sounds like they were right.”

“I guess so,” Bitty said, a little bitterly. “People usually are right.”

“Bits, what’s going on?” Jack said. “What happened?”

“Noth--”

“Don’t tell me nothing happened,” Jack said, using something uncomfortably close to what Bitty called his “captain voice.” “You’ve been all excited about how many people like your pies and how many they’re buying, and you were happy this morning. I know you, Bitty. So what is it?”

“I sold pies to Shawn Clark’s mother.”

“What? I mean, OK, I know he’s an asswipe, but so what? Is his mother as bad as he is?” Jack asked.

Bitty sank onto a stool in front of the webcam on the counter. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

He sighed.

“Shawn was there, too, and she brought up the thing, you know, the thing at the school, and she said if I knew Shawn then I knew he’d never do such a thing,” Bitty said. “I didn’t agree with her, but I didn’t disagree either. I don’t even know why I didn’t say anything. Was I being polite and avoiding a scene? Being greedy and not trying to lose a $25 sale? Being a coward and escaping a future beating?”

Bitty was looking at the counter, scraping a bit of flour off with his thumbnail. Jack didn’t know if Bitty noticed his quick inhale at the last sentence.

“Or you were being kind and not making her think less of her son, being a smart businessman and making a sale, being prudent enough to not make trouble you don’t have to,” Jack said. “The police and the school people and you and Shawn all know what he did. Arguing with her probably wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“I know. Mama said parents always like to think the best of their kids, and I know she’s right,” Bitty said.

“So you told your mother about it? What else did she say?” 

“When I said Shawn was exactly the kind of person to do that because he used that word _all the time_ , she asked if he used it to me,” Bitty said. “I told her yes.”

“So what did she say then?” 

“Nothing, really, But she looked upset,” Bitty said.

“So does that mean she knows --”

“That I’m gay? I don’t know. She knows that people sometimes picked on me because, well, because of being small and the figure skating and baking and all,” Bitty said. “Does that make her think I’m gay too?”

“Well, she’d be right,” Jack said, trying to be reasonable. “And she might have other reasons for thinking it. She knows you pretty well, and you kind of talk a lot, even if it’s not usually about important things. She might have figured it out.”

Jack took a breath. He and Bitty were friends, had been for a while, even if the boyfriend part was new. This was something he could say to a friend, he thought.

“If keeping it a secret is hurting you more than telling her would, maybe you should think about it?” Jack said. “It’s your decision to make, and I’m not trying to push you, I promise. But you have friends. You have places you can go. Don’t forget that.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “But it’s not just me I’m worried about. I don’t want to disappoint her, or make things difficult between her and Coach, or if it got out, make people talk about her.”

“You wouldn’t be making anyone do anything,” Jack said. “Just think about it.”

“OK. The dough should be ready,” Bitty said, and got up to pull his own batch of snickerdoodle dough out of the fridge.

The cookies turned out great, and Jack and Bitty exchanged “I love yous” before hanging up, but they didn’t talk about anything else.

Jack went to Guy’s house, watched the Blackhawks win, displayed the social skills he’d learned at his parents’ knees and accepted compliments on his baked goods.

When he got home, he called Bitty again, and when Bitty answered, he was shirtless on his bed. One of his hands was out of the picture, but it looked like it would be touching his groin. And it was moving.

“Bitty?” Jack said. “What are you doing?”

“Probably exactly what it looks like,” Bitty said. “Would you take off your shirt if I asked, Jack?” 

Jack pulled his T-shirt off and settled on his own bed.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the game ended,” Bitty said, his face flushed with arousal or embarrassment, or both. “I thought about trying to finish before you called, but I decided to wait. Is that OK?”

Jack’s cock was already standing at attention, just from watching the lazy motion of Bitty’s forearm. “More than OK. Can I join you?”

He was already reaching inside his shorts.

There wasn’t a lot of talking after that. Jack watched Bitty’s arm move faster, and he watched Bitty’s face as it started to shine a bit from sweat, as he panted and made small noises and sometimes said just “Jack,” as his body arched and his face twisted and he breathed a quiet moan.

Jack’s hand had been keeping pace with Bitty’s and watching Bitty come sent Jack over the edge as well. As soon as he could speak again, he said, “You are so beautiful.”

Bitty’s cheeks were pink, and he was looking up at the camera through his blond lashes, as though he’d suddenly come over shy. “You too.”

As Jack’s breathing settled down, he said, “I’m not complaining, Bits, but why tonight?”

“I was thinking about how lucky I am, how much luckier than I ever thought I would be,” Bitty said. “I was never sure that I would ever have a boyfriend, and now I’ve got you, and you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and you actually want me too, and I was thinking about the way you look at me sometimes, and, well …”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Goodnight, Bits. _Je t’aime_.”

“Good night, Jack. I love you too.”

Now, after sleeping on it, Jack wondered if maybe Bitty was trying to avoid another conversation. Even if he wasn’t, Jack was troubled by the idea that Bitty thought Jack was out of his league, was grateful to him for taking notice. Bitty at Samwell projected confidence in himself. Jack knew that Bitty was attracted to him, had been attracted to him for a long time, although Jack hadn't realized it until almost too late. He knew that Bitty had been sad when he thought the attraction wasn’t mutual, but Jack never thought that Bitty ever believed that he wasn’t good enough in any way. Because anyone would be lucky to be with Bitty. The truth was, if anyone in this relationship should come with a “caution” label, it was Jack, with his anxiety and his career and the demands it made, but Bitty wanted him, and that was enough.

His difficulty was that he couldn’t talk about any of that with Shitty, unless he could say it was about some unnamed love interest. But Shitty would never buy it.

He could talk to Shitty about the homophobia Bitty was facing in Madison, and how hard it was for him to combat it since he wasn’t out.

At the very least, maybe Shitty would have some ideas to help with that.


	29. June 15: Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A better day for Bitty

It had taken a day, but Bitty felt like he was finding his stride again by Monday.

Sunday had been mostly just normal, with church in the morning and family dinner in the afternoon. In the evening, he’d done a couple of special-order pies, and started the dough for the crust for the next week.

Shitty called early in the evening, asking how life was in the Bible Belt. It was like he couldn't believe that anything good -- except for maybe Bitty and his pies -- came from south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Bitty laughed and told him not to be a Yankee snob.

“I know things aren’t perfect here by any stretch,” Bitty said. “Believe me, I know. But I also know that there are lots of good people, people who take the time to get to know one another and care about one another. Not that y’all don’t care, but sometimes I think everyone up north is in such a hurry to get where they want to go, they don’t notice anyone else.”

“And maybe we just believe in minding our own business and letting our neighbors mind theirs,” Shitty challenged.

“Maybe,” Bitty said. “But how far is it from that to every man -- or woman or non-binary person -- for themselves? And besides, the weather here is better.”

“Bitty, you’re a skater, and it’s like 90 degrees every day all summer,” Shitty said.

“Which Massachusetts philosopher was it who said ‘Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds’?” Bitty asked. “Come on, Shitty. You might not get it, but this is where I grew up. It’s my home, as much as Samwell is. I don’t think I’ll live here forever, for a lot of reasons, but don’t act like there’s nothing good about it.”

“All right, all right. You know I was kidding yesterday about what I would give for your pie?” Shitty asked.

“You wound me, Shitty. My pie isn’t worth your undying love and devotion?”

“Nah, bro, of course it is,” Shitty said. “But you’d have that from me whether you ever made another pie or not. You need anything, you just call me, understand?”

After they hung up, it struck Bitty that Shitty had essentially given him the same message that Jack did. That mystery was solved when he talked to Jack that night, and Jack said Shitty had spent the afternoon in Providence.

“I tried not to tell him too much, but when he asked about you, I said you told me that it was hard being around some of the people who harassed you in high school,” Jack said. “I think he wanted to make sure you knew he had your back.”

Bitty felt a wave of emotion wash over him at that, and he had to swallow before he trusted his voice not to shake.

“You all don’t know how much that means,” Bitty said. “There are a lot of things I love about it here, but knowing that y’all care about what happens to me, that makes it so much easier.”

“Of course we care,” Jack said. “Of course we do.”

Bitty set out early Monday, first to cut the softball fields, and then to go to the rink. He brought the snickerdoodles he’d baked Saturday, and got ready to lead hockey drills and referee scrimmages.

He’d be working with Karla again, as well as Seth Hartwell, the coach of his high school club team, and Sam McElwee, whom he’d played with. Emily was back for hockey, and the rest of the group consisted of 15 boys and two other girls between 8 and 12 years old.

“I’ll run the practical camp stuff,” Karla said, “but you’re in charge on the ice, Mr. D-1 hockey player. Just make it fun.”

Bitty started the day with some speed drills, followed by skills instruction designed to show where the kids were. He got his break and texted with Jack when the kids were off the ice for a couple of hours in the middle of the day, then had them play Capture the Flag on the ice before organizing them into teams for 3-on-3 scrimmages at the end of the day.

It was actually less intense for him than teaching figure skating. He spent a fair amount of time standing next to Sam or Seth or Karla, leaning on his stick and talking while the other coaches worked. 

“I saw the Frozen Four games,” Sam said. “You all were incredible. How’d you go from our little team to playing like that? I mean, I knew you were fast, but that’s not even the same game.”

“I had a lot of help,” Bitty said.

He had enough energy to bake in the evening -- pear tartlets for Mrs. Collins bridge club, thank God they weren’t peach -- while the Blackhawks and Tampa Bay were playing Game 6, and then call Jack.

He knew he was grinning like a fool when he said, “Remember what we did Saturday night? Want to do that again?”


	30. June 16: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History nerd

Jack felt a bit like his world had slotted back into place Tuesday morning. He'd watched the Blackhawks win the Cup last night by himself, which he preferred to having to socialize with his new teammates.

He'd enjoyed watching games with them -- if nothing else, he learned something about how they thought about hockey -- but the Cup was special. Seeing Jonathan Toews hoist it (and there was a hockey golden boy if one existed) brought back memories of his father holding it up, of his mother carrying him onto the ice, of the gatherings when his father got his summer day with the Cup. He honestly wasn't sure how much he actually remembered and how much felt familiar from the pictures he'd seen and stories he'd heard.

But seeing it on the ice meant that hockey was officially over until October, and when it started again he'd be playing for the Cup himself for the first time.

Then when Bitty called, they didn’t say much but “Did you watch the game?” before they were jacking off again. This time Bitty talked more, telling Jack that he'd been thinking about Jack while he got himself off for months, thinking about how Jack’s hand would feel on his cock, wondering how Jack’s cock would be different from his, imagining how Jack would taste … Jack didn't last long. 

Then, with Tuesday, Jack got his routine back: run, breakfast, text Bitty, weight room, meet Tina to discuss social media, lunch, text Bitty, ice time.

Bitty was back at the rink, where he seemed to feel safe, teaching and coaching hockey this week. Jack breathed a bit more easily.

Jack and Poots, the other rookie already in town, were in with Tina when his phone buzzed with a notification from Bitty. Tina was talking to Poots about the dangers of oversharing, so Jack opened the message.

Bitty’s selfie showed him in his warm ups, leaning on his stick, looking like the Bitty Jack had last seen on the ice.

 _Gonna skate rings around them too?_ Jack asked.

 _You mean like I do to you?_ Bitty replied.

He was smiling when Tina said, “I think we're almost done. Jack, nice job on the congratulatory tweets last night, by the way.”

“You did approve them in advance,” Jack said.

“And you managed to post them without messing them up!” she said, clearly chirping. “I should give you a sticker! Have you thought about a new Instagram post?”

“I noticed people sometimes post pictures of themselves,” Jack said.

“Selfies, yes,” Tina said, as though he was perhaps more dim than she had thought.

Jack spared a thought to wonder why he often pretended to be more clueless than he was. He knew what a selfie was. Maybe so people wouldn't be disappointed when he still turned out to be pretty clueless?

“Yes, anyway, my friend came to see me Sunday and took a picture of me holding my camera upon front of the Roger Williams memorial,” Jack said. “He sent it to me and said I could use it.”

“Can I see?” Tina said, and if she caught a glimpse of Bitty grinning over his hockey stick before Jack found the right picture, she didn't say anything.

“It makes you look a little like a history nerd,” she said, looking at Shitty's picture.

“I _am_ a history nerd,” Jack replied. “Got a degree in it and everything.”

“All right then,” she said. “Go for it.”

He posted it with the caption, “Does this make me look like a history nerd?”

At 11:32 a.m., it received its first comment from @ERB15. “Yes. But it looks good on you.”

Most rest of the Samwell team chimed in by the time Jack got off the ice at 3; comments ranged from “You do you” (Lardo) to “You do know you graduated?” (Holster) and “Best. Picture. Ever.” (Shitty).

Inspired by the Roger Williams memorial, Jack spent some time Googling historic sites around Madison, Georgia. There were apparently lots of pre-Civil War mansions and a National Historic District. He knew it would be busy over the Fourth of July, but maybe this wouldn’t be his only visit. Or maybe he could ask Bitty for a tour to get the two of them out of the house.

He couldn’t wait to see Bitty again. He’d been worried about him, yes, but Jack thought a lot of his anxiety came from just not having Bitty there. Over the time Bitty lived in the Haus with him, he’d become an almost constant presence, in the kitchen, across the hall, in class. There was always the aroma of pie baking, or the sound of Bitty’s music coming from his room or the bathroom. Jack had always liked time by himself; now, he thought with a jolt of surprise, he was a bit lonely.

To distract himself, he made the sauteed chicken and vegetable dish he’d looked up earlier. If he cued up one of the playlists Bitty had sent him while he cooked, no one would be the wiser. The recipe had required an extra stop at the supermarket on the way home from the rink for fresh produce, and it took a little while to cut everything up, but it came out looking and smelling way better than a protein shake.

He took a picture and sent it to Bitty. _Dinner time. Talk later?_

The response was almost instant.

 _Absolutely. Talk later._ Then there was a picture of a winky face. _Got pies to bake now. Maybe you could think up some drills for beginning hockey players? That kids could do?_


	31. June 17: Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty visits Moomaw

Bitty was still sound asleep when his alarm went off Wednesday morning, warm in the arms of a dream. A very nice dream, in which a certain Canadian hockey robot featured prominently.

He chuckled at the thought. Jack was so much _not_ a hockey robot, and now Bitty could hardly believe that he once thought Jack was unfeeling, or that all he had feelings for was hockey. It wasn’t just that Jack had kissed Bitty and told him he loved him. It was baking together in the Haus, and looking at the pictures Jack took, some of which had to do with hockey, but more of which showed Jack’s friends caught in the moments when they looked most like themselves.

It was seeing the way Jack cared for the team and the way he tried to take care of them as their captain. Robot? Not Jack. Not hardly.

It took a few minutes, but once Bitty was ready, he rolled out of bed and headed out for his run. Breakfast was ready when he got out of the shower, and he sat at the table with his mother while he ate.

“I can pick up the peaches and the blueberries you need at the market today,” Suzanne said. “Just call Mark and let him know I’m coming. I’ll even take care of peeling the peaches, if you’ll do a job for me.”

“Sure, Mama. What do you need?” Bitty asked.

“Can you head over to Moomaw’s after you get out of camp?” she said. “She needs her grass cut, and the boy who usually does it is out of town. She’ll probably give you supper before you come home.”

“I don’t mind.” Bitty said. “But she doesn’t have that big a lawn. Can’t Aunt Barbara do it?”

“Well, I’m sure she could,” Mama said. “But she doesn’t think it’s a lady’s job. I could do it myself, but then Aunt Barbara would be mad because she’d think I was showing her up. And if your father goes …”

“Aunt Barbara will find 12 other jobs for him to do, and complain about how he does all of them,” Bitty said. “So I’m nominated.”

“Afraid so,” his mother said.

“No, really I don’t mind,” Bitty said. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t seen her as much as I should.”

Camp was easy. The kids got along, and the older ones helped the younger ones and the younger ones tried to do what the older ones did and after a house full of college players, their level of obnoxiousness barely registered.

Once the last player got picked up, Bitty pulled his truck out onto the highway and headed to Monroe.

Cutting the grass was a matter of about half an hour, and then Bitty sat on the porch with his glass of sweet tea and Moomaw while dinner finished cooking.

Moomaw was shelling peas -- the last ingredient -- while Bitty talked to her.

“Moomaw, what you said about not baking for people if I don’t want them to enjoy it … did that ever happen to you?” he asked.

“Well, Dicky, I know I told you that my parents didn’t want me to marry your grandfather at first,” Moomaw said. “What I didn’t tell you is what his parents thought of me, which wasn’t much, I’ll tell you now.

“But I wanted so much for them to like me. After we married, he would invite them over, and I would cook for them, and they would find fault with everything I made. The roast either wasn’t done or it was as dry as shoe leather. The biscuits were heavy enough to be paperweights. The soup was salty. But at first, they left my baking alone,” she said. “But after nearly a year of this, of them picking and pawing at everything I did, your great-grandmother said something against my pecan pie. She said the crust wasn’t right, and she thought I’d used pecans from the year before. I was livid, and I never baked for them again. Just between us, I’ve always wondered if that had something to do with your Aunt Barbara’s disposition. I was pregnant with her at the time.”

“What if you make something, and later you find out that someone you don’t like ate it?”

“Well, there’s not much you can do about that,” Moomaw said. “Either they liked it, which shows that they aren’t so wrong-headed as to think you can’t produce anything good, or they didn’t, and they won’t eat any more of it. Nothing for you to do about it either way.”

She fixed him with a keen eye.

“Who is it that you dislike enough that you didn’t want to feed them up, Dicky?” Moomaw asked. “You’ve been mother-henning the whole world since you were old enough to use a rolling pin.”

“It’s just a kid I knew from high school, Moomaw,” Bitty said. “He wasn’t very nice to me.”

“If I know you, it was worse than that,” Moomaw said. “But I’d put him out of my mind if I were you. Anyone who can’t see the good that shines out of you doesn’t deserve to take up space in your head.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Bitty said. 

“If he keeps bothering you, you have my permission to mix up the sugar and the salt when you make him a cake,” Moomaw said. “You also have my permission to speak your mind to him, not that you need permission. You do what you think best. You’re a good boy, Dicky. You’ll do right.”


	32. June 18: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack thinks about college

“Jack! Hold up a minute,” Poots was shrugging into a clean polo shirt after their afternoon skate.

Jack stopped near the door to the locker room, waiting to see what Poots wanted. To Jack, the other rookie, at 20 years old, seemed impossibly young, but after a year in the AHL, team management expected him to make the roster in the fall, and they wanted him to get used to the team as soon as he could.

Of course, 20 wasn’t unusually young for a rookie. If anything, Jack at 25 (26 by opening day) was old. Poots was about the same age as most of Jack’s Samwell teammates had been, the age Bitty was now. Somehow, Jack never thought of Bitty as too young.

Poots had thrown his bag over his shoulder and was coming towards Jack. “I just wanted to know if maybe you wanted to grab something to eat, maybe come over and play Mario Kart or something like that?” he asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.

Now Jack knew why Poots seemed young. He looked at Jack like he was an elder statesman already, literally looked up to him somehow, even though Poots was nearly Jack’s height. Nearly Jack’s height, nearly Jack’s weight and more than five years younger. Jack wondered if he should feel threatened, if they’d encouraged Poots and Jack both to come to Providence early so that they could compete with one another.

No. The Falcs wanted him. Georgia had assured Jack of that when he signed, and he hadn’t seen any sign that they were playing any sort of game, And frankly, now that Jack had spent a few weeks reviewing game tapes from the previous seasons, the team could use both him and Poots. If only Poots would accept that he belonged there.

“Sure, Poots,” Jack said. “You have anywhere in mind?”

Poots named a small Middle Eastern restaurant near Brown, and Jack pulled out his phone to map it out when he got in his car. He also texted Bitty; it was 3:30 p.m., and he would be done with camp in half an hour. Maybe he could spare a few minutes.

 _Going to get some food with Poots,_ he wrote. _I think he’s a little intimidated. How do you put people at ease?_

Bitty blessedly texted back before Jack arrived at the restaurant. First, of course, came the chirp: _Who could possibly be intimidated by sharing a meal with Jack “Eat More Protein” Zimmermann?_

Then: _Be interested in him. Find out about him -- how he started playing hockey, maybe, or what else he likes to do. Maybe smile once or twice?_

Jack replied, _Am I putting him at ease or flirting?_

Bitty’s answer came just as Jack was getting out of the car.

_It’s just a matter of degree._

Over chicken kebabs, hummus and salads, Jack did his best. He asked how Poots started playing. (“I grew up in Hamilton. Everybody played.”). He asked what Poots did for fun (“Mostly video games. Sometimes I go out to the clubs.”) He even asked what Poots’ family was like (second of four children, older sister, younger brother and sister).

Then he realized that the conversation sounded like an interview, or maybe an interrogation. He stopped asking questions and concentrated on his plate. After a moment, Poots filled the silence.

“So, when did you know?”

Jack looked up, startled.

“When did I know what?”

“That you wanted to play hockey?” Poots said.

“Oh,” Jack took a sip of water. “I’ve known that forever. It was never even really a question.”

“But you went to college?” 

It suddenly dawned on Jack that Poots was 13 years old when he had his overdose. He might not even know about it. But if Jack seemed evasive, then Poots could Google it all as soon as he left. Or even before he left. It would be better for him to give at least the basics. Then it wouldn't look like he was hiding anything. Which he wasn't.

“I was planning on entering the draft when I was 18,” Jack said. “I had some issues with anxiety, and I ended up ODing on my meds, so I spent some time in rehab and getting my head back together. When I was ready to hit the ice again, I had to start somewhere, and I didn’t know how it would work. It seemed like college would be a good way to try it.”

“Yeah, but you stayed,” Poots said. “All four years. You graduated. Was it that good?”

Jack considered how to answer.

“Yes,” he said. “I got a history degree, and that was really interesting; I developed an interest in photography; I played some really good hockey; and I got to know people I don’t think I ever would have met anywhere else. They’re some of my best friends. I guess I got a chance to grow up, to keep playing hockey while I learned about the world beyond hockey.”

“That sounds really cool,” Poots said. “All my friends who are in college talk about is the parties and the girls and stuff.”

“You can go to parties and stuff in the NHL,” Jack pointed out.

“But it seems like they have more fun,” Poots said. “They don’t have early skates, or people taking their pictures for the papers.”

“Tell me about it,” Jack said. “Seriously, that stuff is fun for a lot of people. But for me, at least, there was a lot more to it. It’s not the way I would have planned to do things, but I can’t regret going to Samwell.”

That seemed to satisfy Poots, at least for now. He was chewing thoughtfully.

"I've wanted to be a professional hockey player since I was 8 years old," he said. "I guess I don't have any friends who aren't hockey players, or weren't when I met them. Even the ones who are in college now are people I played with in juniors."

"Well, most of my friends from Samwell were on the team there, too," Jack said. "But it was different. Hockey wasn't it for them. They played because they loved it, mostly, and they were good at it compared to everyone but well, people like us, and some of them had to play to keep their scholarships, but they all have other plans for their lives," Jack said. "There were really maybe only one or two of my teammates that could realistically consider a professional hockey career, and they're not sure that's something they want."

"Why wouldn't they?" Poots asked. "Get paid to play, if you make the NHL, get paid a lot to play. And people know you, it's fun."

"It's fun for you now," Jack said. "But it's not so fun when things aren't going well, when your mental breakdown is the lead story on ESPN."

He stopped himself. What happened to him wasn't Poots' fault. Most people found the cameras fun, at least at first. They didn't have his experience of being in the public eye since birth, or even before.

"And you can make money doing other things without giving up so much control over your life," Jack said, remembering how long the season seemed when he was a child and it meant that his father wasn't home much at all. "And without risking your body. I want to play hockey -- I still can't imagine doing anything else -- but I guess you could say I learned that hockey's not the only thing out there."

Great. Now Poots was looking at him like an elder statesman again.

"Deep, man," Poots said, and then his face broke into a grin. "You know, I have an older sister in law school and brother who wants to be the next Steve Jobs. I do know there are other things."

Jack laughed, "Good for you. I forget that not everyone was born wearing skates."


	33. June 19: Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty's tired

Bitty plugged his phone in for the music and set his webcam on the counter. He was in pretty good shape for tomorrow. With his mother’s help on Wednesday, he’d been able to get all the peach and blueberry pies done by the time he went to camp this morning. Now he just wanted to do a couple of what he always thought of as cream pies, although they didn’t all have whipped cream topping. There had been a couple of requests for lemon meringue, so he was going to make two and see if they sold. He also wanted to make two key lime pies, and a banana cream and chocolate-peanut butter pie that had been special-ordered. Really, six pies should be nothing.

But Bitty was bone tired. He’d been getting up at six to bake before camp, something he knew annoyed Coach because the kitchen was already hot when he came in to get his coffee. Bitty tried to make it easier for him by having the coffee ready, pouring a cup (black) and handing it over as soon as his father appeared.

Then, because he really did need to keep in shape to stay on the team (to keep his scholarship, to stay at Samwell, to be “Bitty” instead of “Dicky” or “Junior” or “Little Bittle”), he’d been spending his lunch breaks in the rink’s small weight room, lifting and running on the treadmill before scarfing the sandwich and fruit he’d brought with and returning to the ice.

After camp, he ran any errands he needed to do, either for himself or for his parents, then spent time prepping for the evening baking session while his mother made supper. She insisted that he take a break to eat properly at the table with her and Coach, before popping up to do the dishes and get started on the evening’s work. He had to be upstairs to talk to Jack by 10 p.m. at the latest, because Jack had to be up early, and not talking to Jack wasn’t an option. He liked camp and his kids there, he loved baking and his parents, but the thought of Jack was what got Bitty through the day. 

His mother had asked whether he thought he was trying to do much yesterday, and Bitty said no, it was all right, it was only for a few weeks anyway.

Tonight, at dinner, his father raised the question.

“You doing OK, Junior?” he said. “Seems like every time I see you, you’re busy. I’m all for working hard, but you have to relax sometimes.”

Bitty was proud that he was able to keep his jaw from dropping to his plate. His father -- Coach -- Mr. “There might be people who are bigger or more talented, but there’s no reason for anyone to work harder than you” -- telling him to take a break?

“Yes, sir.” Bitty said. “It’s just that the pies have been more popular than I thought, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I only have a few to do tonight, and they’re for people who ordered them.”

Some of them, Bitty mentally amended.

“Well, all right,” Coach said. “But maybe tomorrow afternoon -- late afternoon, if you like -- we could go play nine holes? And don’t make any plans for Sunday after church. We’re going to see your grandmother that day.”

“Yes, sir,” Bitty agreed again. It was Father's Day weekend, and golf was one of the few athletic endeavors he and his father could enjoy together. Still, he wondered if he was in for a father-son talk, perhaps about wasting his time in the kitchen. He wanted to sigh, but that would get an immediate negative reaction.

“May I be excused?” he asked instead, taking his plate to the kitchen.

Now he was two hours from calling Jack. The last two crusts were blind baking. The key lime filling was done. The lemon filling was done. Time to do the banana filling. Then, when the last of the crusts came out, he could fill the pies, make the meringue and put those back in to bake, whip the cream and pipe it onto the banana cream and key lime pies. The vlog he planned to make would focus on how to handle meringue and whipped cream to make a pie look good. People start eating with their eyes, after all.

By 9:30 p.m., the pies were done, boxed and in the refrigerator in the garage. Bitty made his way upstairs to shower before calling Jack. He’d stopped wearing a shirt to bed at all. It was summer, and his parents didn’t keep the AC so high that it was cold, so they wouldn’t question it. If it was because of the way Jack’s eyes widened every time Bitty’s bare chest popped up on his screen, well, no one needed to know that.

Even better, Jack had started matching his state of undress for their nightly Skype calls. Bitty wondered if Jack wore pajama bottoms to bed; Bitty was down to sleeping in his boxer briefs. He wondered if he let his screen slip so Jack could see that if Jack would return the favor. 

At 10 p.m., he logged in and saw Jack was already there. He connected the call and smiled widely.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” Bitty said. “You should have seen the save Emily made in our scrimmage! I think she’d give Chowder a run for his money. You really can’t beat the flexibility of a 12-year-old girl who figure skates.”


	34. June 20: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack worries

Jack had been uneasy all day.

First, Bitty was going back to the farmer’s market to sell his pies. Between the ones he made to sell to people browsing and the ones that had been ordered specially, he had more than any other week so far. Jack could tell Bitty was proud of his success, and he should be, of course he should be.

But the fact was, by sitting at the public market selling pies, Bitty was putting himself out there. He was a boy -- a young man -- who had been teased and harassed and worse, Jack would warrant, for not being what his neighbors thought a boy should be like. Just last week, he was approached by someone who Bitty seemed to see as a threat, an actual threat to his safety.

Jack would have been happier if Bitty had stayed home playing video games, or if he had to bake, making something to send to Jack (or his other Samwell teammates -- Jack wasn’t being greedy) in a care package.

But last night when Jack had raised the question -- gingerly -- about whether continuing at the market was the best idea, Bitty had been affronted.

“Jack, honey, how can I make my name as a baker if I don’t sell what I make?” Bitty said. “I know I was upset last week, but it was --”

“Don’t say it was nothing,” Jack said. “It wasn’t nothing, and neither was what he wrote at the school. It matters. You matter, and it matters when people do things to hurt you or frighten you.”

Bitty had taken a breath, let it out, and said, “I know. It wasn’t nothing. But hiding away in my house, or even at the ice rink, won’t help. I know people like this, Jack. Letting them think you’re scared just makes it worse.”

“Are you scared?” Jack asked.

“That he’ll beat me up at the farmer’s market? In front of dozens of people who appreciate good food and who have had my pie? No,” Bitty said. “If he’s there again -- which I doubt -- he might try to intimidate me, but the farmer’s market? Those are my people. Last week I was so surprised I forgot that. I won’t again.”

Bitty sounded so determined that Jack couldn’t help but smile at him.

“All right. But text me as often as you can, OK? I want to know if everything’s all right,” Jack said. He thought he felt a little like his parents did when he was ready to step on the ice again after rehab, wanting him to succeed, afraid it would go badly.

“I will. And I’m going to have my camera to record for the vlog,” Bitty said.

He did text, every 20 minutes or so, giving Jack a running total of pies sold, updates on local feuds and spats, ideas for new recipes. The only face from the past Bitty saw was a girl named Janelle who used to figure skate with him. As Bitty predicted, everything was fine.

Then, in the afternoon, Bitty was playing golf with his dad. Bitty seemed more nervous about that, Jack thought.

“I didn’t know you played golf,” Jack said.

“I grew up in an athletic family in Georgia,” Bitty said. “It’s not the golf I’m worried about.”

Bitty couldn’t text during the game without being rude, so Jack had to wait until it was over for the message from Bitty that said, “Everything’s fine. Strange, but fine. I’ll tell you later.”

Now, as he connected the Skype call and saw Bitty resting on his pillows, he took the first easy breath he had drawn all day.

“So how was it?” Jack said. “What did your dad want?”

Bitty looked down, then looked up, his expression a little bemused.

“He wanted to apologize,” Bitty said.

“For what?” 

“For not knowing,” Bitty said. “I guess Mama told him what happened last week, what I said about Shawn, and he said he never knew that any of his football players were treating other students that way, and that he didn’t blame me, but I should have been able to say something to him before. That he felt bad that we weren’t closer. This all took about two hours, just so you know. It wasn’t like he just poured his heart out all at once.”

“Wow,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Like I said before, it was nice, but strange.”

“Did you tell him anything?” 

“Not really,” Bitty said. “I just said it was OK.”

“It really wasn’t,” Jack said.

“No, but no need to rub it in,” Bitty said. “I think he’s been feeling down on himself all week. He actually told me I shouldn’t be working so hard yesterday.”

“He’s right,” Jack said. “You have looked tired. You still do.”

“I’m taking tomorrow off,” Bitty said. “We’re going to Moomaw’s after church. I think my little cousins will be there, too, so it should be fun.”

“Still, can you take it a little easier next week?” Jack asked.

“A little. I’m getting better at doing multiple pies at once,” Bitty said. “But I need to make some money fast if I’m leaving the first week of August. And I want to be able to pay for train tickets to come and see you.”

Jack was taken aback. He’d never thought that inviting Bitty to spend time with him in August would cost Bitty anything. At least he could set him straight on the matter of train tickets.

“Bitty, you don’t seriously think you’ll have to buy your own train tickets?” he said. “You know how much I make. It was in the paper. I can pay for those.”

“I don’t want to be a kept man, Jack,” Bitty said, doing his best impression of a southern belle. 

“But I’ll benefit just as much from your visits,” Jack said. “Would you rather I buy you a car?”

“Jack!”


	35. June 21: Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty gets a surprise

Maybe he was getting used to Georgia Sundays, Bitty thought.

Church had a big emphasis on fathers, it being Father’s Day and all, but the minister didn’t focus on the respect children owed their fathers. Instead, he talked about how God was a father who loved all his children, and how earthly fathers were here to show their children how God loved them. 

When fathers fell short, as all humans do, the minister said, it was up to them to make it right, and show their children that God never gives up on anybody.

Given their conversation on the golf course, the message couldn’t help but hit home for Bitty. A quick glance at Coach showed that he was hearing it the same way.

After church, Bitty packed up the two pies -- only two -- he’d made for his family the night before, while his mother put up fried chicken and coleslaw and bean salad. The plan for today was to eat cold foods, the summer heat being out in full force. The smaller kids would bring their bathing suits and the adults would set up the sprinkler in the yard for them to run through.

Bitty toyed with grabbing his swim trunks too, but decided that he was too old. At the last minute, though, he threw an old pair of gym shorts and some dry underwear in the car just in case.

Dinner was delicious as expected, and Bitty was almost dozing on the glider listening to the kids’ screams of laughter and the adults’ talk of who was having a baby and who was getting married and who just got married six months ago and had a baby last week.

Then his name caught his attention.

“Dicky’s having a friend come to stay over the Fourth of July,” his mother said.

“A friend of the the female persuasion?” Aunt Barbara asked.

“No, I remember you said before, one of his teammates, isn’t it?” Aunt Melanie chimed in. “Quite a looker, you said, and a professional hockey player too.”

“That’s right,” Coach said. “As I understand it, the team he signed with plans to play him in the NHL right away, right, Junior?”

Bitty, now fully awake, nodded. “Yes, sir. Jack’s older than most rookies, and he’s been playing hockey since before he could walk practically, so they think he’s ready.”

“It’s Bad Bob Zimmermann’s son, Barbara,” Bitty’s mother said. “We weren’t much for following hockey, but I knew a few girls who had posters of him when we were in high school. And his mother’s so beautiful too.”

“Well, it’s too bad Dicky doesn’t have any sisters,” Aunt Barbara said. “If he’s coming here to see Dicky, he must be a kindhearted soul, too. He’d make a fine addition to the family.”

Bitty stood up.

“Dicky’s right here, Aunt Barbara,” he said. “But I’ll change and go play with Jeff and Sadie if that will make it easier for you to talk about me.”

He managed not to slam the screen door on the way into the house. Barely.

In the five minutes it took to change in the downstairs powder room, he had time to calm down. He was going to have to apologize, he knew. Neither Moomaw nor his parents would tolerate that level of rudeness, although he still thought Aunt Barbara had started it, with her implication that the only reason Jack would visit him was out of pity.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” he told himself, grabbing a towel from the cabinet and heading back through the kitchen.

Moomaw was waiting for him.

“Eric Richard Bittle,” she started.

“I know, Moomaw,” he said. “I’ll apologize. I shouldn’t have snapped at her like that. I should show respect for my elders.”

“Oh, Dicky, that’s not what I was going to say,” Moomaw said. “I was going to say Barbara can be an awful sourpuss, and life hasn’t turned out the way she wanted, but that’s no reason for her to take it out on you. But apologizing is a good idea. If nothing else, it will show you’ve got the manners I tried to teach her.”

“Moomaw!”

“You’re not a child now, Dicky,” Moomaw said. “I love all my children, but you have to realize I’m not blind.”

Bitty giggled a bit, and was about to move toward the door when his grandmother laid a hand on his arm.

“Tell me about your young man,” she said. “Is he as handsome as your mother says?”

Bitty felt his face color as words refused to come. He should deny, deny, deny. But he didn’t want to.

Finally, he said, “How do you know?”

“Dicky, dear, I wasn’t born yesterday, or even last week,” she said. “The look on your face when your mother talks about him!”

“Does everyone else know too?” Bitty asked, horror rising into his throat.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Moomaw said. “People mostly see what they’re looking for.”

“And you don’t mind? About me and … and me having a boyfriend?” Bitty asked,

“Why should I?” Moomaw asked. “Young people think they’re the first ones to experience everything. There have been boys with boys and girls with girls since I was a girl myself, and I’d bet for thousands of years before that. I understand you wanting to keep it a secret. Some people can’t handle the idea of anyone being different from them. But no, I don’t mind at all, and I’m looking forward to meeting your Jack. Do you have a picture of him?”

Bitty opened his phone and showed her pictures Jack had sent him. “You’ll love him,” Bitty said.

“If you do, I’m sure I will,” Moomaw said. “And don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me, I just thought it might be easier to know someone knows and is on your side.”

“Moomaw, can I come cut your grass again this week?”

“Of course, Dicky. Of course. Now go apologize to your aunt and keep your cousins happy a little while longer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said, feeling lighter than he had since he got home. He could handle a dozen Aunt Barbaras now.


	36. June 22: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty's getting worn down

Jack decided he was feeling better about Mondays. His conversation with Bitty the night before had been surprising, to say the least, but more reassuring than troubling. Who would have thought that Bitty’s 70-something grandmother would be the first one to catch on that they were dating? Without even meeting Jack?

“Apparently I get a certain expression on my face when my mother talks about how handsome you are,” Bitty said. “She said she didn’t think anyone else noticed -- they’re too busy anticipating the Adonis from the land of ice visiting.”

“And she wasn’t, I don’t know, shocked or anything?” Jack asked.

“She pretty much said there’s nothing new under the sun,” Bitty shrugged. “And she’s the one who really taught me to bake. She understands the secrets of the human heart.”

“Speaking of secrets …”

“If she said she won’t say anything, she won’t,” Bitty said. “Our secret is safer with her than with me, apparently.”

“Then I’m glad,” Jack said. “It’s good that someone there has your back.”

Jack had talked to his parents on Sunday -- to wish his dad a happy Father’s Day and to work out details with his mother on their visit to Providence the following weekend. Both had asked after Bitty and told him to convey their greetings, which he did.

Bitty shook his head. “I never thought I’d be on a nickname basis with Bad Bob Zimmermann,” he said.

After their talk, Jack had slept well and gotten up later than usual. He and Poots had a noon tee time at a local public course. Bitty’s father had given him the idea; nearly every hockey player could play golf, and Poots was in a situation similar to Jack’s, living in a new city with new teammates and not a very heavy schedule over the summer. Their main job was training, but you couldn’t do that 10 hours a day, at least not for long.

Jack was going to Georgia over the Fourth, and maybe to Montreal two weeks later. Poots had a couple of trips back to Hamilton planned.

After finishing, Jack and Poots ate together again, and Jack took a selfie with Poots and their platters of grilled chicken breast. He sent it to Bitty with a note, _Your southern hospitality is rubbing off on me. Poots is the other rookie in town this summer._

He was a little surprised (jealous?) when the response came, _Wow. He’s a good-looking guy._

Then Bitty followed up with, _Should I be jealous?_

 _Haha,_ Jack replied. _I’m just trying to make a good impression. I miss you. I wish you were here._

 _Me too, honey,_ Bitty typed. _Me too._

That night, when they talked, Bitty seemed quiet. Jack knew he had started figure skating camp again, so he asked about that.

“New group of kids in camp?”

“Not really. I’ve got seven in my group this time. One isn’t back this week, and two are new,” Bitty said. 

“You think they’ll shape up all right? Be ready for the show on Friday?” Jack asked.

“Five of them did it two weeks ago; we won’t change much for them, just maybe add a couple of moves to their step-outs,” Bitty said. “And they can help the new ones learn the group choreography. It’ll be fine -- easier than the first week, at least.”

“I was hoping to get another picture of you figure skating,” Jack ventured. “Or a video. That would be even better.”

“You know what I look like in figure skates,” Bitty shrugged. “But if you want, I’ll have one of the girls take some video tomorrow.”

“What’s up, Bits?” Jack asked. “This isn’t like you. Usually you can’t wait to talk about your camp kids.”

“Nothing,” Bitty said. “Just tired, I guess. I had to get up to cut the softball fields today.”

“Want me to tell you about my day instead?” Jack asked. “You know I played golf with Poots. He’s a nice guy -- seems like a kind of young 20, if you know what I mean, but I think Georgia’s right. He might have what it takes.”

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s important to bond with your teammates.”

“Is that why you didn’t say anything to me for the first month we knew each other besides, ‘Eat more protein’?”

Jack was ready to grin at the chirp when he realized Bitty wasn’t smirking at him.

“Bitty? You’re not really jealous, are you? He’s just a new kid on the team.”

“He’s the same age as me,” Bitty said. “But no, I believe you. I just don’t see why you’d waste your time with me -- a kid -- when you’re going to be playing in the NHL and could probably have anyone you wanted. I’m still in school, Jack. I have to keep playing hockey just to stay in school. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I’m done, except I know that I don’t want to move back to Georgia if I can help it.”

“I know all that,” Jack said. “Although really, you don’t have to play hockey to stay in school. If you wouldn’t take it from me, my parents would give you the money. But you want to play hockey, so it doesn’t really matter. I’m not wasting my time with you. I love you. You’re the best thing in my life, my first thought in the morning and my last before going to sleep. You’re brave and kind and beautiful, and for some reason I can’t figure out, you love me, even though I’m anxious and moody sometimes, and I can’t offer you the kind of life you should have, at least not now.”

“I do love you, Jack, so much,” Bitty said. “But this seemed so impossible for so long, sometimes I can’t hardly believe it’s real. Thanks.”

“No need,” Jack said. “I’ve got your back.”


	37. June 23: Bitty

Bitty spent much of his Tuesday morning trying to work himself out of his funk while he prepared and wrapped several discs of pie dough. It would keep until he started baking tonight.

Talking to Jack last night had helped. He wasn’t jealous of Poots, not really. He might not understand it, but he could see the way Jack’s face changed when they talked. Sometimes his face lit up when their screens connected, sometimes he looked at Bitty like he couldn’t believe his luck, sometimes he looked like he wanted to devour Bitty. No, Bitty didn’t doubt Jack’s sincerity. He just didn’t understand it.

After all, Jack was gorgeous, rich, talented, the son of hockey royalty on his way to claim his place on the throne. Bitty was a small, blonde baker, the butt of jokes, the victim of bullies. Even at Samwell -- where, truth be told, “one in four and maybe more” was a huge part of the attraction -- Bitty hadn’t had much success on the dating front. There’d been his disastrous Winter Screw date his freshman year, the British rugby player his sophomore year, but nothing really clicked. He told himself that he was too busy with classes, with baking, with hockey, to do more about it, but if he were honest, for at least the last year, he had been too busy pining over Jack.

Who apparently had been so taken by him -- even if Jack was oblivious to his own feelings -- that Bitty became the de facto subject of his photography project, because he was in almost all of Jack’s pictures. Well, him and geese.

“Come on, Bitty,” he told himself. “Don’t sell yourself short. You are an _awesome_ baker. You’re the fastest skater in SMH, and the only one who can land a double axel, or any kind of axel. The squats have been working. You have mad social media game. People are comfortable around you.”

His words -- and the encouragement of Queen Bey -- worked, and by the time he got to the rink, he was pretty sure he was ready for the day.

When the girls got on the ice and warmed up, he cued up “Single Ladies.” It took less than half an hour to get them doing a reasonable semblance of the dance on skates, Bitty swinging his hips and raising his arms right along with them. Once they had it down, he gave his phone to Karla to record it.

“I thought I could share some of what we work on each day with their parents,” Bitty said. “I can upload it and send them a link during my break, if I can use your computer.”

“Great idea!” Karla said. “Just make sure it’s private, OK?”

“Sure, no worries,” Bitty said.

That didn’t stop him from sending a copy to Jack.

He got a workout in at lunch, responded to Jack’s _Haha. You’re not single_ text with _Not a lady either, if you hadn’t noticed,_ and got ready to work one-on-one with the girls that afternoon.

Before they could start, though, he noticed a tension that had not been there that morning. Emily, who would be with him until he left at the end of July, doing both figure skating and hockey, was glaring at Olivia, one of the new girls. Olivia had seated herself next to Amelia, normally Emily’s best friend.

“I mean, hockey players are just gross, aren’t they?” Olivia said. “Have you smelled the locker rooms? They reek. They should have separate locker rooms for us. I don’t know why anyone would want to play hockey. Well, maybe if they they were too big to figure skate, I guess, or weren’t graceful enough.”

Amelia was half turned away from Olivia, a petite sprite of a girl who did skate beautifully and who had informed everyone that morning that her first love was ballet. Bitty could see that Amelia was uncomfortable, but she probably didn’t want to be rude herself by telling Olivia to knock it off.

Emily had stopped glaring at Olivia and was now trying to stare a hole through the floor.

Time to step in, Bitty thought. He’d never met Olivia before yesterday, so she probably didn’t know too much about him.

“Hockey players are gross, huh?” Bitty said. “I’ll make sure to tell my teammates. But you must not have watched much hockey if you think all you have to be is big. There are all kinds of skills that go into hockey, from speed and strength to hand-eye coordination and teamwork.”

“But Coach Eric -- you were a competitive figure skater. That’s what Coach Karla said,” Olivia said.

“I was, and yet I went to college on a hockey scholarship,” Bitty said. “Funny thing is, when I got there, I had to convince people that I wasn’t too small to play hockey. It didn’t take too long.”

“But there are no _girls_ on your hockey team,” Olivia said. 

“No, but I played with girls on my team until I went to college. And my college has a women’s hockey team,” Bitty said. “I don’t want to hear anyone belittling or putting down any other athletes, y’all hear me? I happen to love hockey players, but I’d say the same even if you were talking about, I don’t know, swimmers or football players. Everybody gets to do what they love, and the rest of us don’t have a bad word to say about it.”

He swept his eyes over the benches, making sure he had everyone’s attention. Emily’s chin had come up to determined angle.

“But you’re right,” he went on. “Hockey pads do reek. Then again, have you ever smelled your skates? Emily, you’re up first. The rest of you practice on your own until I call you.”


	38. June 24: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack cooks

Jack stared at the recipe on his screen. Five eggs seemed like a lot. And it had a crust. But as much as he had enjoyed exploring the (relatively) healthy take-out options in Providence, Jack had decided that if he was a real adult, he had to cook for himself.

He was tired of broiled chicken breasts and pasta and rice and vegetables either eaten raw or frozen and reheated in the microwave.

Plus, Bitty would be here in a little over a month. Bitty wouldn’t mind cooking every meal, and he might even follow the nutritionist’s guidelines for Jack most of the time, but Jack felt like had something to prove. He wanted his kitchen to look -- to be -- lived in and used when Bitty got there, clean and neat but not so pristine it looked like everything had just been delivered. 

He remembered that Bitty had made a quiche for lunch with Chowder and Farmer. It had been good, and it didn’t seem too hard. So Jack googled “healthy quiche recipes.” Hundreds of options came up. Jack dismissed some of them out of hand. How could something with a hash-brown crust be healthy? Some seemed too complicated, or too fussy. Individual mini-quiches? That sounded like something Bitty would do, but Jack would have to eat three of them to approach a meal.

He finally found one for a ham and Swiss cheese quiche that looked doable. He knew he could find all the ingredients at the supermarket. He thought about trying it on his own and surprising Bitty with a picture, but thought better of it.

He texted a link to the recipe to Bitty. _Do you think I could do this?_ he asked,

Then he checked the time. Still early enough that he would probably get a response before Bitty hit the ice with his figure skaters. Jack had workout and meetings, but he could stop at the market on his way home.

It took about three minutes for Bitty’s reply. _I think so. The crust will be pretty sturdy. Just put it together and chill it while you prepare the filling. And leave yourself plenty of time. Let me know how it goes._

Then: _I’m going to Moomaw’s after camp to cut her grass and have supper, so I won’t be on my phone all the time, but if you have questions, I’ll try to help._

Jack texted back _Thanks. I’m thinking of inviting Tater. It says it serves 6. Do you think we’ll need two?_

 _Hmmmm_ Bitty typed back. _One is probably enough. Just have some good bread, a big salad and something for dessert. Even just a fruit salad if you want to be good. You can do one with Greek yogurt for the dressing to add protein. :-)_

Jack saw Tater in the weight room again -- he was starting to know the schedules of the players who were still in town -- and asked if he wanted to come for dinner and to watch the NHL awards.

“I’m cooking,” he said. ”And I’m trying something new, so we might have to get take-out after all, but I was in the mood for something homemade.”

Tater looked -- flummoxed? impressed? Jack wasn’t sure -- but then said, “If it doesn’t work, I won’t tell. What can I bring?” 

“Umm, maybe some fruit salad for dessert?” Jack suggested.

“Will do, Zimmermann. 6:30?” 

Now, at 4:30, Jack was starting to cook. The quiche was supposed to take 90 minutes, so he left himself two hours. He found his experience with pie crusts helped; the quiche crist was far more forgiving.

The vegetables were chopped, and he was starting to carmelize the onions.

 _Carmelize?_ he texted Bitty.

 _Cook low and slow until they’re brown and smell and taste sweet,_ Bitty said. _If you try to use too much heat to hurry it, they’ll scorch. Gonna start mowing. I’ll check in when I’m done._

By the time Bitty finished, Jack had assembled the quiche and took a picture before he put it in the oven. While it baked, he washed the prep dishes, pulled out plates and utensils, and turned on a soccer game on the TV. The commentary was in Spanish, but Jack didn’t think it really mattered.

Bitty sent him a thumbs up, and when he pulled the quiche from the oven and sent anouther picture, Bitty sent him heart eyes and a tongue hanging out. _I’m gonna go brag on my beautiful boyfriend and his gorgeous quiche (and other things) to Moomaw. Talk to you tonight?_

 _Absolutely,_ Jack said. 

_And I’m so proud of you, honey!_ Bitty sent back.

The quiche was delicious as advertised, and he and Tater finished it, but he wasn’t hungry afterwards. Tater went home after they watched Carey Price take home the most hardware -- Bad Bob had to be pleased to see the Hart go to a Canadien -- and Jack texted Bitty again.

_Talk now?_

When Bitty came on the screen, there was a smear of flour on his cheek and his face and hair looked sweaty. 

“Are you still busy?” Jack asked. “You didn’t have to stop.”

“No, I’m done. Just haven’t showered yet,” Bitty said. “Mama got a lot of it ready for me today. I feel like I should share the profits, but she won’t hear of it. She said it’s payback for all the help I gave her in the kitchen.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Jack said. “How was your grandmother?”

“Moomaw was great,” Bitty said. “She wanted to know all about you.”

“What did you tell her?” Jack asked, annoyed with himself for being just a little worried. 

“Everything,” Bitty said. “About how you helped me learn to take a check, and how you looked out for everyone on the team, and you’re the best hockey player I’ve ever seen, and you really love history and photography, and you’re beautiful, and you ran across campus to kiss me, and for some reason you love me.”

“That’s definitely the good version,” Jack almost laughed with relief. “But of course I love you. How could I not?”

“That’s basically what Moomaw said,” Bitty giggled. 

“Then I expect I’ll love her when I meet her,” Jack said. “I am going to meet her, aren’t I?”

“Of course, Jack. Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jack’s quiche recipe](http://www.eatingwell.com/recipes/ham_swiss_quiche.html)


	39. June 25: Bitty

Bitty had gone over and over it in his mind. The easiest thing to do when Jack’s flight arrived just before 11 a.m. on July 3 would be for him to rent a car and drive to Madison. That way Bitty could work all day, as he was expected to, not have to ask any favors, not tell anyone that Jack was coming.

But there were so many reasons Bitty didn’t want to do it like that. It offended his notions of hospitality to leave any guest to make it through Hartsfield Airport and the surrounding traffic on their own. It meant that Jack, who still liked to use paper maps, would have to navigate to Bitty’s parents house, where he wouldn’t find Bitty. Bitty knew his parents wanted to see Jack, but he was pretty sure Jack was more interested in seeing him than his parents. And it meant that the first time Bitty saw Jack after almost six weeks apart would be under the (prying?) eyes of his mother and father.

No, that simply wouldn’t do. Bitty had to go to Atlanta to collect Jack and bring him home. To do that, he’d have to get Karla to agree. He would have to make sure she understood he didn’t expect to be paid for the time he missed.

Thursday was the day to ask. More than a week (just) before the day in question, not an end-of-camp day. Bitty had prepared a half-dozen mini-pies for the camp staff the night before and was waiting in Karla’s cubicle of an office behind the front desk when she arrived.

“You’re here early, Eric,” Karla said. “Pies? You want something?”

“Karla, I’m wounded,” Bitty said, putting on an exaggerated hurt expression. “Since when can’t I bring something nice for my favorite rink manager and camp director?”

“Usually you bring baked goods at the end of the summer,” she said. “Or if you want something. Wait -- you’re not quitting early and leaving are you? Because I was counting on you. And if that’s the case, six mini-pies just isn’t going to cut it.”

“What? No!” Bitty said. “I’m here through the last week of July. But I do need some time off.”

“How much time?”

“Most of next Friday,” Bitty said. “It’s hockey camp, and Sam will be here, and I can help start the day and even come back for the scrimmage at the end, but I have a friend from school coming into town and I have to pick him up at the airport. Please?”

“When does his flight get in?” Karla asked. 

“Around 11. So I could be here until 10 to get them started, and go get him and bring him to my house to drop his stuff off and have lunch with my parents, and then I could bring him to the rink for the scrimmage at the end of the day,” Bitty said. He stopped himself from smiling too soon. He knew he almost had her. 

“I suppose that’s OK, but won’t your friend want to rest? I don’t want you to get in the habit of bringing your friends to work,” she said.

“Most of my friends from around here already work here,” Bitty said. “And this one, well, he never met an ice rink he didn’t like.” OK, that sounded better in his head. “I play hockey with him.” Now he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from sneaking up. “Or I did. He’s playing in the NHL next fall.”

“Wait … no one from your team got drafted, but … Zimmermann? Jack Zimmermann is coming here?” Karla was almost squealing.

“Yeah, just for a little break, so he’s trying to keep it quiet. He did ask if maybe I could get us into the rink to skate for a while Saturday, though. I think something bad happens to him if he spends too much time off his skates,” Bitty deadpanned.

“Of course, sure. You can take the keys on Friday. Do you think I could get an autograph?”

“You could ask him,” Bitty said. “Just one thing: Don’t tell anyone he’s coming. Don’t tell the kids ahead of time. Jack’s really quiet, and he’s coming here because he doesn’t want a lot of attention. But he likes hockey, and he likes kids, so he won’t mind hanging out for the scrimmage.”

The rest of the day flew by. The “Single Ladies” routine was coming along and was going to be added to Friday’s show. Olivia and Emily had come to a detente, at least in part because Emily had shown Olivia exactly how much more she could do on the ice. The other girls were getting along. 

At lunch he texted Jack. _Want to help coach a peewee scrimmage when you come? I can get you at the airport, but the plan is for me to come back for last scrimmage Friday afternoon._

Then _BTW, Karla promised me the key for Saturday. I think she thinks you’ll bless the ice or something._

Jack texted back: _I’d like to meet your camp kids. Especially if the alternative is to stay home with your parents while you’re at work._

And then: _Bless the ice? Now how exactly would we do that?_

Bitty sent back a blushy face and finished his workout. 

He ran his errands and checked his phone for new pie orders before heading home and settling in for a long night of baking. With the prep work his mother had done, and the dough chilling in the fridge in the garage, he thought he could most of what he needed for the weekend done tonight. He knew his mother was talking about going out for a family dinner on Friday night; if he could get most of the work done, he could go. It looked like maybe he would just have a couple of banana cream and lemon meringue pies to make; those didn’t keep as well as the fruit pies and didn’t like making them any earlier than Friday night for Saturday delivery.

As he rolled crust and wove lattices and rotated pies in the oven, he hummed with his music and danced in the kitchen, ducking his head with a grin when he saw his mother smiling at him from the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you so happy, Dicky,” she said.

“I am Mama, I really am.”


	40. June 26: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obergefell and celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the change in rating. If you want to skip the NSFW part, you can stop where Bitty asks Jack how they would celebrate. Nothing important to the plot happens after that.

Jack was in Georgia’s office, looking at a list of possible appearances, events and other commitments for the rest of the summer when his phone vibrated on the table. He ignored it. It vibrated again.

George glanced up. “Do you need to --” she started, then her phone vibrated from the desk behind her.

She reached back for her phone as Jack picked his up. The screen was full of notifications the SMH group text, starting with Shitty’s “I can’t believe the motherfuckers did it! Maybe this law thing will work out!” Then he included a link to Washington Post story headlined “Supreme Court ruled gay couples nationwide have a right to marry.”

The responses came from Lardo (“About time”), Ransom (“We beat you by 10 years”), Holster (“Now we can get married, Rans!”) and Ransom again (“Dude, it’s been legal for like 10 years in Massachusetts too”); and Nursey (“Finally catching up!”). Chowder chimed in with “Bitty must be so happy!” and Jack realized that Bitty’s name was absent from the chat.

It was already 9:25. Bitty was on the ice, and would be for another hour at least, and he wouldn’t touch his phone unless he wanted to record something. Bitty probably didn’t even know yet.

Jack finally looked up from the screen. Georgia still had her phone in her hand and she was texting someone -- Sandra? -- with tears in her eyes. “I honestly never thought I’d see the day,” she said, after clearing her throat. 

“But you’re married already, aren’t you?” Jack asked. 

“We got married in 2013, as soon we could here, and we did a civil partnership before that,” George said. “But it’s always felt sort of, I don’t know, provisional, maybe, because we knew there were states we could go to that wouldn’t recognize we had any legal relationship at all. That happened. That’s how this case started. And now, they have this ruling, that doesn’t just apply to the states directly involved, that doesn’t limit itself to saying those states have to recognize marriages performed elsewhere. It says every state has to let us get married because we have a constitutional right. Like we have the same rights as other people. I never thought it would happen.”

Jack still felt a little confused. Canada had instituted same-sex marriage when he was a teenager, too young and absorbed in hockey to pay much attention to, well. anything. Since then, he’d always lived in places where gay marriage was legal. The only place he was sure it wouldn’t be was Georgia, but as of today, it was.

“Are we done here?” Jack said. “There’s someone I need to call.”

“Sure,” Georgia said. “I’ll make sure these get added to your calendar.”

By the time Jack was closing the door, he could hear George on the phone with her wife.

“Hi, love. I just wanted to talk to you right now,” she said.

Jack totally understood the feeling.

He knew that as soon as Bitty picked up his phone, he’d see the notifications and find out what happened. But he wanted to be the first to tell Bitty -- using his voice. So he called and left a voicemail saying, “I’m sure you already know, but the Supreme Court just made same-sex marriage legal in all 50 states. I never thought news like this could make me so happy. I love you.”

It was another hour and a half before Bitty called back. When he did, his voice was thick like he had been crying, but Jack could hear the smile in it.

“Did you read it?’ Bitty asked him. “Did you read the decision? The last paragraph? It’s perfect. This is what he wrote:

“‘No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization’s oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right.’

“Jack, it’s perfect. I couldn’t imagine a ruling so perfect.”

Jack drank in Bitty’s happiness. Of course he had read that paragraph. He’d read that and news stories explaining the ruling and interviews with couples who had been together for decades who could finally have their unions recognized legally. He’d watched video after video of cheering crowds waving rainbow flags and seem dozens of photographs of men kissing men and women kissing women, and all he thought about is how wonderful this must be for Bitty.

“How are you going to celebrate?” Jack asked. 

“Celebrate?” Bitty asked, brought up short. “That wouldn’t be a wise move here. I can probably change my Facebook profile pic to something rainbow-themed; they know I go to Samwell after all. But actual celebration would be seen as dancing on the top of the coffin of traditional marriage.”

“Maybe we can celebrate together tonight?” Jack asked. “Do you still have baking to do for tomorrow?”

“Some, yeah, but I should be done by 10,” Bitty said. “I’ll call as soon as I’m done.”

Jack was waiting when he saw Bitty come onto Skype at 9:48. He connected the call, and was greeted with the sight of a clean, slightly damp Bitty, shirtless as usual, leaning back against the dark red pillowcases Jack had come to know.

“How was the rest of your day?” Jack asked. “How’re people there taking the news?”

“Well, Karla was really happy, but we didn’t really talk about it in front of the kids,” Bitty said. “You never know what they’ve heard from their parents, or what they’ll go home and tell their parents. People on the news and on the radio are really mad. Like really mad.”

“What about your parents?” Jack asked.

“They weren’t waving rainbow flags or anything,” Bitty said. “Coach said, and I quote, ‘Well, that’s all right, I guess.’ Mama said she didn’t see any reason gay people getting married would affect anyone else’s marriage, and if it was that important to them, they’d do less damage to the institution of marriage than straight people who get married and divorced three and four times.”

“That’s … good, I guess?” Jack said.

“It is,” Bitty said. “I shouldn’t be upset because they aren’t as enthusiastic as I’d like. I mean, they’re nothing like other people who say this is an omen of the apocalypse. Literally.”

Bitty sighed. “And I am happy, so happy, because even if I didn’t want to get married here, I’d want everyone to have to respect my marriage. And maybe after a few years they’ll get used to the idea. And I’d like my parents to be like the team, to say they’re happy and excited for me, but I can’t really expect that if they don’t know.”

“Where do you think you might want to get married?” Jack said, wondering if the wedding Bitty was picturing included him, thinking it did, but not sure. 

“I guess when I went to school, I thought if it ever happened, it would be Massachusetts,” Bitty said. That made sense, but didn’t clarify things for Jack. “I don’t know. Canada’s had same-sex marriage for a long while, hasn’t it? And Rhode Island does too, I know.”

Jack couldn’t keep the smile off his face when he said, “You know it does. George couldn’t wait to call her wife when the news broke.”

“So you said we could celebrate,” Bitty said. “How would we celebrate if we were together?”

“Quietly,” Jack said. “Just the two of us.”

He took a moment to look at Bitty.

“I want to touch your hair,” Jack said. “It’s so blond. I want to run my fingers through the top. It looks so silky. I want to rub the sides, feel the ends spring back against my fingers.”

Bitty was staring at him. “I’d like that,” he said. “What else would you like to do?”

“I want to kiss you, on the mouth, so many times. I want to kiss your forehead and your nose and you ears. I’d suck on your earlobe if I had a chance, I think.”

Now Jack’s look was speculative.

“Are your ears sensitive?” he asked. “Would you like that?”

“I -- I don’t know,” Bitty said. “No one’s done that to me, and I can’t exactly do it to myself. But I like hearing you talk about it, so I’d certainly let you try it. Chances are, if it involves you touching me -- any part of you touching any part of me -- I’m gonna be all for at least trying it. So what else?”

Jack took a breath. Consent is important, he reminded himself, even if it’s over Skype. If Shitty taught him nothing else, that was a lesson well-learned. “Bitty, I’m more than happy to keep going, but this will likely get really sexual, really fast. Is that OK? Because when I look at you like that, laying back on your bed, I have to tell you, that’s where my mind goes.”

Bitty’s face made an odd expression, like he was trying to smirk and couldn’t quite manage it.

If his, “That’s what I was hoping for, Mr. Zimmermann," was more breathless than teasing, well, Jack could sympathize.

“All right, If I have your blessing, I’d move to your neck. I know I can’t mark you, at least not where people can see, so I’d only suck lightly. I’d kiss you up under your chin and the point of your jaw behind your ear. I’d lick up the tendons on either side, and I’d taste the sweat I can see there between your collarbones.”

Bitty’s fingers were tracing over his own head and neck, trailing over the places Jack mentioned. Jack had to stop to free his cock from his underwear, but he resisted the urge to stroke himself while he spoke. He tried to keep all his attention on Bitty, whose eyes were half closed and who was flushed pink all the way down to where the picture cut off just below his nipples.

“I’d massage your shoulders to make sure you were relaxed, run my hands all the way down your arms. I’d pick up your right hand and suck each finger into my mouth.”

 _Crisse_ if Bitty wasn’t sucking on his fingers now.

“Then I’d do the same with your left hand,” Jack said. “I’d massage your pecs. You know you have a beautiful chest, right? And I’d run my fingers over your nipples lightly at first, then harder, then I’d pinch them just a little to see how hard they’d get. Then I’d suck on one while I pinched the other, then switch.”

Bitty, who had been rubbing his own nipples, sucked two fingers to wet them before bringing them back to his nipples, which were pink and hard and shiny with saliva now. Jack could have drooled at the sight.

“Keep going,” Bitty said.

“That’s all I can see,” Jack said. “Move the camera.”

Bitty tilted the camera just a bit, enough to show his abs and his navel and the line of honey blond hair that glinted as it led to the waistband of Bitty’s undershorts.

Now Jack was touching his own torso as he described how he would use his tongue to trace the muscles that were clearly visible, how he’d poke his tongue into Bitty’s belly button to see if he would laugh or squirm, how he he would bury his nose in the hair leading down to to catch Bitty’s scent.

“You always smell so good, Bits,” Jack said. “Even when we did checking practice, I would get close to you and I could smell you and it was so good.”

And it was, Jack realized, He could always smell Bitty himself, distinct from the unavoidable odor of hockey pads.

Now Bitty’s fingers were plucking at his waistband. “Jack, more. Please.”

“If I could, I’d want to take those off, and I’d want to see,” Jack said.

The picture shook as Bitty’s bed moved and the camera was jostled. When it settled again, Jack had a clear view of Bitty’s cock, pink and full and standing nearly straight. Moisture glistened at the tip. Bitty’s fingers were touching the thatch of blond hair above the base, but Jack thought he could see them twitching, wanting to touch his cock.

Now Jack’s mouth was definitely watering.

“I’d tease you a bit,” he said. “I’d scratch your pubic hair, and kiss the inside of your thighs. I could suck you hard enough to leave a mark there, so I would.”

Bitty’s hands were moving again, following Jack’s direction, staying away from his swollen cock. Jack could no longer resist; he started stroking himself.

“I’d kiss all the way back behind your balls, and I’d lick straight up over your balls to the tip of your cock.”

Bitty’s other hand -- fingers fairly dripping with sweat -- followed the path Jack described.

“Then I’d put one hand around the base of your cock and suck on just the head at first,” Jack said.

Bitty groaned softly as he finally got his hands on himself.

“I’d make you feel so good, Bits,” Jack said. “I’d suck you long and hard and soft and slow. I’d figure out what you liked best, and I do that.”

Bitty took that as permission to do what he needed, and it wasn’t long before Jack could see he was close. Bitty’s hand was flying, his hips were stuttering, and he made an “uh-uh-uh” sound with every breath.

“When you were ready to come, I’d suck harder," Jack said. “I want to taste you, Bitty. I want every bit of you that I can have.”

With that, Bitty came, spurting over his hand, his other hand in his mouth.

Jack had been keeping his own strokes steady while he focused on Bitty. Now he sped up. He heard Bitty’s voice -- he still couldn’t see his face -- asking, “Can I see you too?”

Jack paused long enough to angle the camera down and kick his underwear off in answer, because words were beyond him.

“Oh, Jack, you are gorgeous,” Bitty said. “Look at you. Look at you, and you’re doing that for me. You are so beautiful, Jack. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

Jack’s orgasm overtook him with spasm after spasm. When it it was over and he opened his eyes, he was looking at Bitty’s face again. Bitty was still flushed and looked utterly debauched, his hair a mess, his lips red and swollen from biting them, his eyes fixed on what Jack realized was his own softening cock and semen-spattered abdomen.

“Oh my gosh,” Bitty said. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Me too,” Jack said. “I love you, Bits, and I can’t wait to touch you in person.”

“I love you too, Jack,” Bitty said. “Thank you for doing that.”

“No need for thanks,” Jack said. “The pleasure was all mine.”


	41. June 27: Bitty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some nasty language directed at Bitty in this, but it does come out ok.

Bitty woke Saturday morning still feeling relaxed, a sense of well-being permeating every cell of his body. As he blinked his eyes open, he remembered what had happened. About the Supreme Court (was there any way to get a homemade pie to Justice Kennedy?) and about last night. What Jack had done. What he and Jack had done. What he had done in front of Jack.

He thought maybe he should have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t. He just thought about how much better it would be if he could actually touch Jack. If Jack could actually touch him.

It was already hot when he opened his stand up at 8 a.m. He put out a box to collect orders for the next weekend -- he already had 12, and he promised himself that he would take no more than 24 -- and chatted with the people who stopped to look at the pies he brought to sell. He chatted a bit with Lardo during lulls -- she was usually awake and free Saturday mornings -- and sent a couple of snapshots to Jack. Jack had sent a selfie with his parents back.

Bitty heard some people talking about the ruling, but it seemed like a non-event to most of the shoppers at the market.

Janelle came back around 11 and stopped to talk a bit after buying one of the lemon meringue pies from Bitty’s cooler. She was still there listening to Bitty talk about figure skating camp when Shawn Clark came up, order form in hand.

“Little Bittle!” he said. “My mom said to give you this. She wants two pies for next weekend.”

Bitty hesitated. He’d set himself a limit of 24, and he was at 23 already. Two more would be 25. And while he had no real problem with Mrs. Clark, he didn’t want to extend himself for Shawn. But it was just one extra, and he’d been doing 36 pies a week and more for the last three weeks.

“All right,” he said coolly. “Put it in the box.”

Shawn was giving Janelle a frankly appraising look that Bitty didn’t like at all.

“This your girlfriend?” Shawn asked.

“She’s my friend,” Bitty said, pointedly not making introductions.

“Yeah, I always thought you’d swing the other way,” Shawn snickered. “So she’s available?”

“She’s standing right here,” Bitty said. “And whether she’s available is entirely up to her, but if she asked my advice, I’d tell her to stay far away from you.”

Janelle was glaring at Shawn. He had to be close to twice her weight, but she didn’t look intimidated.

“I don’t associate with people who make fun of people,” she said.

“You can tell your mom I’ll drop the pies off late Friday afternoon,” Bitty said, trying to end the conversation.

“Oh, come on, I was only joking with him,” Shawn said to Janelle. “I mean, look at him. What girl would actually want to go out with him? I figure he’d have to go for guys, because some guys will fuck anything. At least your boyfriend can make an honest man of you now,” he said to Bitty.

Bitty was stunned momentarily. Janelle wasn’t.

“Leave,” she said. “Leave now.”

Bitty found his voice. “Go now and tell your mother there won’t be any pies,” he said, low and even and too angry to yell.

“Christ, can’t you people take a joke?” Shawn said. “You gotta make the pies. My mom really likes your pies.”

“And I really don’t like you,” Bitty said. “I don’t like the way you try to intimidate people. I don’t like that smile you get when you do scare someone. I wouldn’t leave a plant I liked in your care, and I don’t want you eating my pie. If I were you I’d leave before this gets worse for you.”

Shawn looked around and saw their confrontation had attracted attention.

Charlie Winchester, who sold vegetables across the way, had come from behind his table.

“Seems to me Eric told you to leave,” he said. “That’d be a good idea.”

John James (fruit from his orchard) was also in the aisle, and Mrs. Sullivan (jams and jellies) had her phone out recording. Bitty hoped it really was recording. He wasn’t sure she knew how.

“And if anything happens to Eric or his house or his things, I’ll turn this recording over to the police, young man,” she said. “It’s going to your parents and Eric’s parents anyway.”

Shawn’s defiance cracked. “Don’t send that to Coach Bittle,” he said. “He knows my coach in Athens. I’ll go.”

“You’ll go anyway, young man,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “But I think Coach Bittle should know how you treat his own boy.”

“Now,” Charlie said. “Go now.”

Shawn turned and left, not looking back at the knot of people gathered in the aisle.

“Thanks,” Bitty said. “Y’all didn’t have to --”

“Of course we did,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “He was being the hind end of donkey. I’m sure it’s not the first time, and if someone doesn’t get him in hand soon, that boy is going to end up in jail.”

“And I’m sorry you had to be part of that,” Bitty said to Janelle. “I’m sure it wasn’t what you planned for this morning.”

“You think that’s the first jerk I’ve had to deal with?” Janelle asked. “Please. I’m a girl, Eric. It happens. Although, to be honest, he was pretty bad. Thanks for sticking up for me.”

Bitty checked his stock, which was almost gone.

“All right,” he announced. “I’ve got one banana cream and one peach pie left. Who wants some?”

By the time he went home, Bitty had no pies, but several orders from his fellow vendors for the week after Fourth of July, and a new appreciation the people he saw every Saturday. He couldn’t wait to tell Jack.


	42. June 28: Jack

Jack said goodbye to his parents at their car and went back up to his apartment to watch the video Bitty had sent him.

He’d heard the story last night, after a day spent furniture shopping and showing his parents around his new city. He’d soaked up the opportunity to talk about Bitty as much as he wanted, without having to pretend they were no more than friends and teammates.

Sure, he’d felt himself blush when his mother asked how often they were able to talk, and he said they Skyped every night. His parents hadn’t noticed, of if they had, they hadn’t said anything. His father had just looked at his mother and said, “I wish we could have done that when I was still playing. Road trips would have been far easier.”

His mother giggled and Jack blushed again.

When Bitty sent a picture of himself in front of his pie stand, his mother insisted on a group selfie to send back.

Bitty had texted a few minutes later, _Tell your parents I hope they’re having fun in Providence! What are their favorite kinds of pie?_

“Apple,” his father said immediately. 

“Pecan,” his mother said. “Does this mean he’s going to make us pie?”

“He’d make you pie in any case,” Jack said. “Sometimes, it seems like pies just appear around Bitty. But if he knows your favorite, that’s what he’ll make.”

To Bitty he texted, _Papa says apple. Maman says pecan._

Bitty texted back, _But how did she pronounce it?_

 _In French,_ Jack responded.

Then his mother was off talking about couches -- did he want one that pulled out into a bed? Even with a guest room? What color was he thinking about? -- and Jack put his phone away.

His father asked what he thought of the team so far over lunch, and hockey talk took over the table.

They were strolling along the river on what had become one of Jack’s favorite walks when he realized Bitty must be done with the farmer’s market. It was odd that Jack hadn’t heard from him. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened it to see a three missed calls and a string of texts from Bitty. Merde. He hadn’t felt the phone vibrate or heard it ring.

“Just a minute, Maman,” he said. “It looks like Bitty’s been trying to reach me.”

He read through the texts quickly.

_Jack, pick up your phone._

_Jack, I want to talk to you. Something weird happened._

_Jack?_

_OK, I guess you’re busy._

_Call me._

_But don’t worry. Everything’s OK._

_I just want to tell you about it._

_Call me. Please?_

The texts -- that “Please?” at the end -- had Jack dialing while his parents stood on the pavement staring at him. The phone rang three times and then the voicemail picked up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Eric Bittle, pies, pastries and baked desserts. Please leave a message with your name, phone number, what you’d like to order and when you need it by, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I possibly can. Thanks!”

“Bitty, it’s me. Are you all right? I’m still with my parents but call me when you get this. OK. I love you.”

His parents were trying to look like they weren’t listening in, but they were smiling. Their expressions changed to concern when they saw his face.

“What’s wrong, son?” his father asked.

“He’s just had some trouble with a guy who used to … used to give him a hard time in high school,” Jack said. “This guy approached him before at the farmer’s market, so I think maybe he was there again. Anyway, he said in his texts he was OK. But when Bitty saw him before, he was upset. It’s just, if I was there, or he was here, I could do something.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Jack,” Alicia said. “I’m sure he’ll call soon.”

Bob was quiet a moment and said, “I know you’re planning on keeping this quiet for both of your sakes, but remember, you can’t step in and defend your boyfriend’s honor if no one is supposed to know he’s your boyfriend.”

“I know, Papa, I know,” Jack said. “But I’d still rather be there.”

They were in Jack’s apartment waiting for a furniture delivery when Bitty called.

“Was it that Shawn kid?” Jack demanded.

“It was, as a matter of fact,” Bitty said. “But Jack, you should have seen! I actually told him off, and I told him to leave, and so did everybody else, and he had to walk away. Jack, for the first time I won!”

Jack smiled at the pride he heard in Bitty's voice.

“Good for you, Bits,” Jack said. “I’m proud of you.”

That night, after his parents were tucked up in their hotel, Bitty gave him a nearly word-for-word account, a huge grin on his face. He promised to share the video if he could get it.

A Dropbox link had appeared in his inbox while he was eating breakfast with his parents.

Now they were gone, it was time to watch tape.

He quickly came to a few conclusions: Shawn Clark was a big guy, but Jack could still take him, he thought. If Ransom or Holster heard him talk to Bitty like that, they’d flatten him. Shawn Clark was a literal douchebag. Bitty’s friend Janelle was brave. Bitty, his boyfriend, was amazing.

He watched the video again, noting how much smaller Bitty was than Shawn. And Bitty had gotten bigger -- not so much taller, but he'd bulked up over the last year. What must it have been like to confronted with not just one Shawn Clark, but two or three or four of them at a time, when Bitty was that younger version of himself that Jack had seen in the videos? Because guys like that, they traveled in packs. What had Bitty said? "I don't like the smile you get when you do scare someone." That was a smile Bitty had seen more than once. 

This time, though, Bitty walked away smiling. What was different? Well, for one thing, Jack thought, Janelle was there. She was tinier than Bitty -- about Lardo-sized, maybe. Bitty took Shawn's behavior towards her as a threat, and that's when he started pushing back against Shawn. Janelle didn't show any fear, but Jack knew that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't afraid. 

Then, when Shawn looked he was thinking about escalating the confrontation, more people got involved. 

Shitty would love it. Shawn was like a poster boy for misogynistic, male hetero-privileged, homophobic bullying and harassment, and Bitty and his friends put on a clinic for how to deal with a bully. 

He called Bitty. 

"Bits, I'm so proud of the way you handled that," he said. "And I'm so happy that so many people backed you up. I'm not surprised though. People like you so much."

"Thanks, Jack," Bitty said, suddenly sounding a little shy.

"And if I see Shawn Clark while I'm down there, I can't guarantee my good behavior."


	43. June 29: Bitty

The last 48 hours had been a bit surreal for Bitty.

For the first time since his family had moved to Madison, he had walked away from a confrontation with Shawn Clark with his head held high. He hadn’t snuck away to hide, he hadn’t choked back the tears that would confirm his weakness to Shawn Clark and his friends, he hadn’t even denied (or confirmed) that he was gay. This time he was the one surrounded by friends.

Maybe he should have felt sorry for Shawn, but he didn’t. After all, he didn’t start the unpleasantness. He would have taken Mrs. Clark’s pie order, let Shawn walk away, and that could have been the end of it.

He’d shared his last two pies with everyone still at the farmer’s market -- vendors and customers alike -- and then rushed home to tell his mother what happened before Mrs. Sullivan could send the video.

Mama was pleased to hear that Shawn had been sent packing, although she didn’t seem to understand the sense of triumph Bitty felt. She kept focusing on the fact that the altercation happened at all.

“How dare he come there and attack you!” she said. “And he was disrespectful to Janelle too! I don’t know why he thought he could get away with that.”

He thought he could because he always did, Bitty thought.

Coach grunted in displeasure. “Always knew there was something wrong with that boy,” he said. 

Right, Bitty thought. That’s why he was on varsity when he was a sophomore.

The video link dropped into his mother’s email box that evening. Bitty would have told them not to watch it, but by the time he knew they had it, it was too late.

His mother’s face was pale and his father’s jaw was set. Bitty wasn’t sure why seeing it made it so much worse, but he had known it would.

“He had no call to speak to you that way,” Coach said. “I’m glad you stood up for yourself.”

By church on Sunday, it seemed like the whole town knew what had happened. The church ladies gathered around him, commiserating by saying, “How could he! To accuse you of living a homo-sexual lifestyle like that! Just think -- someone might believe you were one of those gays!”

Bitty didn’t know how to explain that he was just fine with people thinking he was gay -- it was thinking he was bad or worthless or worse because he was gay that bothered him. It was thinking it was OK to threaten him or belittle him because they thought he was gay, or even if he wasn’t gay, because he was different in some way, and calling him gay was the worst thing they could think of. Now that he had come out on top, people wanted to be on his side, but he still felt invisible. It was confusing.

After church, while he was helping prepare dinner, the doorbell rang. It was Shawn Clark and his mother.

Coach came into the kitchen.

“Junior, Shawn Clark is here to see you,” he said. “With his mother. Do you want to see him?”

“I suppose I should, huh?” Bitty said, removing his apron.

When Bitty entered the living room, his father behind him, Shawn looked up, his face red, and said, “My mother said I have to apologize.”

Bitty waited a beat, and when Shawn didn’t say anything else, he said, “OK. Go on.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to apologize, get on with it,” BItty said.

“Umm, I’m sorry?” Shawn said. 

Bitty figured that was the best he was going to get.

Mrs. Clark said, “I’m sorry too, young man. I don’t suppose …”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Clark, my pies for next weekend are sold out,” Bitty said.

He turned to head back into the kitchen while Coach showed Shawn and his mother to the door. Mrs. Clark had already gone outside when Coach laid a restraining hand on Shawn's arm. 

"Shawn, I think you know I'm disappointed in you," Coach said. "Yes, I'm upset more because it was Junior you went after, but I thought I taught you boys to behave like gentlemen. I'd be disappointed no matter who it was you treated that way. Now, I''m not gonna pick up the phone and call Mark in Athens and tell him what you've been up to, but if I get any calls inquiring about your character, I'm not gonna lie. Keep that in mind. And remember that anyone who talked about my son the way you did is not welcome in our home."

By the time Bitty put on his hockey skates and helmet Monday morning, he was ready for the weekend to be over. 

“Emily! How was your weekend?” Bitty asked.

“Fine, Coach Eric. Ready to do this?” she asked.

“Absolutely. Emily, you’re in net. Darren and Oliver, you’re on offense. Noah and David, you’re on D. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

That night, when he called Jack, he was tired, but happy.

“I don’t know what I would do without hockey,” Bitty said.

“Because it takes you away from everything else?” Jack said, because that’s what it did for him.

“Yes,” Bitty said. “But mostly because it brought me to you.”

“Me too, Bits. Me too,” Jack said. “See you Friday?”


	44. June 30: Jack

Three days, Jack thought.

In three days, he would see Bitty for the first time since he had pounded up the stairs in the Haus and found Bitty crying in his old room, for the first time since he kissed him almost without a word. Just his name, and then, “I have to go. I’ll text you.”

So many words had passed between them since that day -- over text, over the phone, over Skype, even the words Bitty had recorded and posted on his vlog.

Jack had wondered, these last weeks, how he could have not known what it meant when he got that warm feeling in his face, that flutter in his belly when Bitty touched him or even looked at him with a particularly soft expression.

He knew as soon as Papa told him to really say goodbye. He knew that more than anything else, he didn’t want to say goodbye to Bitty. But he hadn’t planned to just kiss him. He didn’t know what words he meant to say, but they probably would have been awkward. Overall, he thought kissing him worked out far better.

He’d spent the day making small talk with people who asked what he was doing for the holiday. Tina, in his regular social media meeting, suggested posting an Instagram picture from his trip to see Bittle. “Have him look at it first,” she said. “He knows what works. Maybe something of burgers and hot dogs on the grill to go with that quiche picture you posted last week. Did you really make that?”

“Sure did,” Jack said. “You can ask Tater. He ate half of it. Well, more like two-thirds, really.”

He didn’t mention that Bitty had helped. But he did ask, “Maybe a pie? Bittle’s got a little baking business going down there, so I’m sure there’ll be pie.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Tina said. “I really can’t wait to meet this guy. Hockey, social media and he bakes? Have fun, and see you when you get back!”

Now, waiting for Bitty to Skype, Jack wondered what Bitty had thought when he appeared in the Haus that day. He knew what Bitty had assumed -- that Jack came back for something he forgot -- but his face had said he really never expected to see Jack again, at least not like this, not just the two of them. Had he really thought Jack would just walk away? Had Jack thought anything different?

He hadn’t really thought about it at all. When he thought about his future, Bitty was always there somewhere, baking in his kitchen, singing along to his music, sitting on his couch. Yeah, when he thought about it, he had completely expected Bitty to be spending time with him when he was looking for a place to live.

Bitty’s icon came up and Jack connected the call.

“Hi, Bits,” Jack said. “Have I told you how glad I am that we figured this thing out?”

Bitty looked at him with that expression that made Jack’s stomach flip.

“I’m so happy, too,” Bitty said. “I was sure that you would graduate and move on and that would be it. Maybe we could be Facebook friends, maybe I’d see you when you came back to Samwell, maybe I’d go with the team to a couple of games in Providence. But I thought we’d never be friends like we were. I thought I was just that annoying teammate who was too small and couldn’t take a check.”

“Bitty --”

“No, let me finish. That’s what I thought at first. By last year, I knew you at least liked me,” Bitty said. “I figured I could distract you a little from all the big important stuff. But you were going on to your dream, and I was staying at school, and you wouldn’t need me anymore. I’m not selling myself short -- really I’m not. Remember, I thought you were straight, so the idea of you actually being attracted to me was pretty much impossible.”

“You are selling yourself short,” Jack said. “Maybe you couldn’t take a check, but you were -- you are -- wicked fast, and you’ve got a sneaky shot.”

“OK, Jack, the hockey’s not really the important part here,” Bitty said.

“Bittle, hockey’s always important,” Jack deadpanned.

Bitty giggled.

“But seriously, you still thought I was straight after K- after the kegster?” Jack asked.

“You mean after I overheard you and Kent Parson?” Bitty said. “Well, I didn’t really know what to think, Jack. It seemed like you probably had some kind of non-platonic relationship with him at some point, but it was in the past, and frankly, he seemed like a manipulative bastard. So maybe you did some experimenting. Maybe he pushed you into something you were uncomfortable with. I didn’t know. I just knew you were upset and I didn’t know how to help.”

“So you made me cookies,” Jack said. “I remember them. They were good.”

“I’m glad you liked them,” Bitty said.

“About Parse -- we did -- you should know --” Jack said.

“Jack, honey, I’m gathering you had some kind of relationship with him, but you really don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Bitty said.

“I really do,” Jack said. “But maybe not the gory details? Not right now at least. I guess we were young and stupid. We’d go to parties and we’d drink and one night we kissed, and then it went from there. But my anxiety was out of control, and I was taking too many pills, and the sex was kind of part of it. It was fun. I liked it, I know, but I don’t remember a lot of details, but I don’t think we were ever even really nice to each other.”

“Oh, Jack," Bitty said. "I’m so sorry." 

Jack let that hang, because what did have to be sorry for?

Then Bitty said, "Can I tell you something now?”

“Sure, Bits,” Jack said. “What?”

“Remember when I said I didn’t know if I would like if you sucked on my earlobes?” Bitty said. “It’s just that I don’t have a lot of experience. I mean, I’ve kissed a couple of guys, and one time this guy and I kind of … with our hands? It was OK, I guess, but not great enough for either of us to want to keep seeing each other. But when you kissed me, it was completely different. Even when we do stuff over Skype, it’s so much better. But I’ve never really done much of any of that before.”

Bitty was looking somewhere around Jack’s chin on the screen.

“Bitty -- Bits. It’s OK. Other than Parse, there’ve only been a couple of times for me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I promise,” Jack said.

“No, Jack,” Bitty said, looking up. “I want to. I really want to. I just want you to know I’m new at it?”

“That’s good,” Jack said. “Because anything you want to do, I’m pretty sure I want to do too, but we can take it slow. I just can’t wait to kiss you again, and to hold you in my arms. I want to feel you close to me.”

“Me, too, Jack. I love you. See you Friday.”

“I love you too.”


	45. July 1: Bitty

By the time Bitty took the ice with his peewee-age hockey players on Wednesday, he had finished the dough for 18 pie crusts, jogged three miles and showered. He planned to pick up peaches, apples, blueberries and strawberries at the market at his lunch break and drop them off at home, because his mother had offered to -- again -- prepare the fillings. This week, there were peach pies, apple pies (Bitty felt he had to offer apple pie for the Fourth of July, even if apples were technically out of season. It didn’t matter that much; apples were pretty much available year round), blueberry pies and a strawberry-blueberry tart with whipped cream, for the complete red, white and blue dessert experience.

Before turning his phone off and taking the ice, he texted Jack, _Happy Canada Day! I suppose I owe you that since you'll be here - HERE - for the Fourth!_

After camp, he planned to visit Moomaw again. Just the thought of spending time with someone that he didn’t have to watch himself around made the day go faster.

He was watching the final scrimmage of the day when Sam skated up next to him and leaned on his stick.

“So, Karla says you’re taking a few hours off on Friday to pick someone up at the airport?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “One of my teammates from Samwell. My mother somehow got in her head that he’d like to visit Georgia in July, and she’s been after him to come down for at least a year. But he’s been living on his own and working since May, and I think he just wanted to see a familiar face.”

“That’s cool,” Sam said. “Why are you coming back, though? I mean, I’m sure you could talk Karla into giving you the day and then you could hang in Atlanta for a while.”

Bitty considered. Getting away from his parents would be good, but sightseeing in Atlanta didn’t sound like the way he’d want to spend his afternoon. Besides, his mother was counting on Jack coming directly from the airport.

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Bitty said. “But I think my mama wants to feed him lunch. But I think he’s gonna come to the rink with me for the last hour of the day.”

“Yeah, hockey players are always looking for ice time,” Sam said. “I get it.”

Bitty didn’t say that this particular player had almost unlimited ice time, as hockey was his actual job.

He didn’t have to cut Moomaw’s lawn; the neighbor kid was back and Bitty didn’t want to take his job away. But now his Wednesday visit was accepted as a matter of course by Bitty, Moomaw and his parents.

Sitting at her kitchen table, Bitty relayed the story of Shawn Clark and the farmer’s market. He tried not to exaggerate his role in delivering Shawn’s comeuppance, but it was a near thing. He also told her about the way people were reacting.

“Don’t fret so much over other people,” Moomaw said. “Some of them really believe the nasty things they hear, but more of them just don’t know what to say, so they react to what they think is upsetting you. If you told them you were gay -- is that the right word to use these days? -- and that you weren’t unhappy about it, they’d be fine.”

Moomaw stopped.

“They difficult thing, it seems to me, is that you can’t always tell who’s who, and if you just tell everybody, well, you’re going to have to put up with a lot of ill will and just plain meanness,” she said. “Don’t ever be ashamed of doing what you need to to be safe. Where you go to school, are people different?”

“At my school, people are,” Bitty said. “I mean, it’s known as one of the most LGBT-friendly schools in the country, so people who don’t want to be around the LGBT community don’t usually choose to go to school there. And even outside school, most of the people in Massachusetts are fine with it. I guess some aren’t, but they don’t want to say anything too loud because then people wouldn’t like them.”

“Well, that’s something,” Moomaw said. “Is it worth the cold?”

Bitty laughed. “I think so,” he said. “Especially if I’ve got someone to keep me warm.”

He blushed, but smiled. 

“Your Jack, he’s from Canada, your mother said?” Moomaw asked. “It’s even colder there, right?”

“I suppose,” Bitty said. “I’ve never been there. Where he’s from, most people speak French, but they speak English too. He’s got this really cute accent. You're coming on Saturday, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Dicky,” Moomaw said. “Not for the world. I always worried about you, because you didn’t seem to feel like you fit. Now I see you happy, and it makes me so glad. Even if you have to live so far away. You’ll come back and visit an old woman, won’t you?”

“Of course, Moomaw, you know I will,” Bitty said.


	46. July 2: Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today. Long one tomorrow.

Jack nestled his skates into his shoulder bag, ready to go home and pack to see Bitty. He knew pretty well what to bring; Bitty had said they wouldn't wear anything but shorts while they were there, although he should bring a nice pair and a polo or button-down shirt if he planned to attend church on Sunday.

“You don't have to,” Bitty said. “You can sleep in or watch a history documentary or something. But Mama and Coach will expect me to go.”

“Doesn't it bother you?” Jack had asked. “Going to church where people would think you were going to hell if they knew?”

Bitty thought for a moment. “The people at my church, they'd think that regardless of what church they went to,” Bitty said. “The pastor’s pretty good, actually. He's preached sermons about how Jesus never did actually condemn anyone he met to hell, and how his main rule on how to treat other people is ‘Love one another.’ I thought some of the elders were going to start a move to fire him, to be honest. But a lot of people listened.”

Bitty had shrugged. “It just something you do here,” he said. “And it means a lot to my parents.”

Jack wished everyone a happy holiday weekend as he left the practice rink. When he got home, he put his skates in the suitcase he would check -- no way those blades would make it through security in a carry-on -- along with two pairs of what Bitty called “nice shorts,” two polos, and handfuls of T-shirts and tanks and gym shorts. Socks. Underwear. The still-sealed bottle of lube and box of condoms buried in the bottom. He'd wear his loafers and pack slides, running shoes and sneakers. _Crisse,_ he really was an adult, packing four pairs of shoes, five if you counted the skates, for a four-day trip.

His carry on would have his toothbrush, razor and a change of socks and underwear -- just in case his luggage got lost -- a couple of books, his camera, two Falconers caps for the Bittles and one of the first shirseys with his name and number for Bitty.

He left the packed bags open on his bed and took a picture to send to Bitty. _Tomorrow,_ he wrote.

When Bitty called that night, a little later than usual because he was finishing his pies, the first part of their conversation was all logistics: Bitty would meet him at baggage claim, anything in particular he wanted in terms of food, they were on to visit hockey camp.

“I should warn you,” Bitty said, “Karla bought some extra pucks and a silver Sharpie. I think you might be asked to sign some autographs.”

“I think I can handle hockey day camp kids,” Jack said.

Then they both fell silent. Jack felt the old, unaccountable worry start to bubble up into his chest. Was this a good idea? Did Bitty really want him there? Why wasn't Bitty saying anything?

Bitty finally spoke.

“I don’t know why, but I'm really nervous,” Bitty said. “I mean, I know you like me --”

That was enough to set Jack back onto the rails.

“Bits. I love you.”

“I know you do, honey, and I don't doubt it, not really,” he said. “But what if you meet my family and the other people here and see where I'm from and decide I have nothing in common with you? What if someone -- someone like Shawn -- starts a rumor that you're my boyfriend, and you decide it's not worth it?”

“Not gonna happen, Bitty,” Jack said. “I mean, we agreed to keep this private for now, so we won't be kissing in the middle of Main Street or anything, but we’re both allowed to have friends. Gay friends, straight friends, whatever. If that did happen, they'd just expose themselves for being ignorant. And even though we want it to be private, if it did come out somehow, we'd deal with it together.”

Bitty seemed a bit breathless looking at him. “For me, at least, sometimes this doesn't seem real yet, like it’s too good to be true?” Jack continued. “But it is real, and we can see each other and touch each other and kiss each other tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Bitty said. “I can't hardly wait.”


	47. July 3: Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo! Together at last!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is a monster, like five times as long as most of the others. It has some possibly triggering language and a brief physical altercation starting when Bitty gets out of the truck at the White's house, ending when Jack gets out of the truck. It also has some NSFW content, near the end. If you don't want to read it, stop where Bitty invited Jack to bed and know that explicit and enthusiastic consent was given by both parties and a good time was had by all.

From the time he woke up, Bitty was aware of what Jack would be doing. While Bitty was finishing his run and doing a few sets of resistance exercises, Jack would be driving to Logan. While Bitty was eating breakfast and going over plans for the day with his mother, his phone pinged with a text alert. _In the Delta lounge. How’s the weather?_

Bitty smiled at his phone and started typing while he said to his mother, “Jack’s at the airport in Boston.” 

To Jack he typed, _Not too hot -- mid to upper 80s. Maybe a thunderstorm, but not til this afternoon, so it shouldn't affect your flight.”_

After breakfast, Bitty showered and put on the clothes he'd laid out the night before, new olive green shorts and a peach-colored polo shirt. He combed his hair but didn't fuss with it any more than usual; he'd have to wear a helmet on the ice. He checked to make sure he had socks in his bag and slipped on tan deck shoes.

“I'll see you at lunch time, Mama,” Bitty said. “Jack's plane is supposed to land just before 11. By the time we get his bag and all, it'll be about 12:15 when we get back.”

“All right, Dicky,” she said. “I’ll have lunch on the table. Anything I can do to help with the pies?”

“They're all boxed up; I think I'm set,” Bitty said. “Thanks, though.”

“All right then,” his mother said. “You be careful driving.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The first hour of camp seemed to take all day, no, all week. Bitty set the campers to skating figure eights around the ice in a loose race to warm up and work on speed. Then while Sam and Seth were working on a shooting drill at one end, Bitty set up an obstacle course with tires, cones and spare hockey sticks to jump over or slide under. He finished the second half of the ice when the skaters were pulled off to listen to Seth explain positioning for a power play. Bitty privately thought that was mighty ambitious of him, but figured the kids could use the break.

When he finished, he took off his skates and socks and helmet, hung his warmup jacket on the hook and sketched a wave to Karla as he headed out the door.

He made good time to Hartsfield and pulled into the parking garage, finding an almost deserted corner on one of the upper levels. Then he fixed his hair again and headed into the terminal.

His phone dinged as he entered the baggage claim area and scanned the boards for Jack's flight number.

 _Just landed,_ Jack wrote.

 _In baggage claim,_ Bitty responded.

He found the proper carousel and leaned against a pillar, fiddling with his phone to give his hands something to do. It would still be at least 10 minutes, maybe 15, if the flight was crowded and Jack was towards the back.

That's why Bitty missed seeing Jack coming towards him.

A shadow fell across his phone at the same time a familiar scent tickled his nose and Bitty looked up and …

“Jack!”

Bitty didn't know who reached out first. All he knew was that he was enveloped in Jack's arms, Jack's face buried in his hair, Bitty's arms around Jack's waist and his face pressed against the curve of Jack's neck.

He felt warm and safe and a little dizzy, and he could smell Jack's shampoo and shaving lotion under the stale airplane air that clung to Jack's skin. Under it all was the scent of Jack, and it was all Bitty could do to pull away and clap Jack on the shoulder instead of tilt his head up and kiss him and taste him.

Jack gave Bitty the bro-slap on the back and stepped back as well, and Bitty saw his eyes dart around to see if anyone had noticed that their hug went on a moment too long.

“Good flight?” Bitty asked, turning towards the luggage carousel. 

Jack turned as well, so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. Looking Jack in the face right now just felt too dangerous, like Bitty wouldn't be able to look away.

“Uneventful, so, yeah,” Jack said, reaching for his suitcase the same time Bitty did.

“I got it,” Jack said. 

“Then let me take your carry on,” Bitty said, pulling the strap over his own shoulder and leading the way back to the parking garage. “Mama said she'd have lunch ready -- I think we're just having sandwiches -- and you can put your bags in my room -- I changed the sheets this morning so you can have the bed. But we probably should leave right after for the rink. Did you bring your skates? Karla is so excited you’re coming. No one else knows. I mean, I told Sam I had a teammate coming to visit, and he was surprised you wanted to come to the rink, but then he said he gets how hockey players always want ice time, but he doesn’t know you can skate every day if you want to. Oh, and my Moomaw can’t wait to meet you either. After camp we have a bunch of pies to deliver, or if you don’t want to come with you can stay at my house, but if you come you can see some of the town. How did you get off the plane so quick anyway?”

“Bits,” Jack said, nudging his shoulder as they turned to face the door of the elevator in the parking garage. “Slow down. I’m here ‘til Monday, you know.”

Bitty snapped his jaw shut, then sighed.

“I’m sorry. I think I’m nervous,” Bitty said.

“Shh. It’s OK,” Jack said. “And let me see. Yes, I brought my skates, and some Falconers magnets and pens and things the PR people gave me to hand out. And yes, I want to come with you to deliver your pies. I came here to see you, so I pretty much just want to be where you are, doing whatever you do. And I got off the plane quickly because I was sitting near the front. And Bitty, this wasn’t a question, but I was kind of hoping we could take your bed? It’s OK if you don’t want to but --”

“Oh, my gosh, Jack, of course that’s OK. I wanted that too. But I’ll have to blow up the air bed anyway and probably lie down on it for a while.”

Bitty led Jack to the truck he drove in the summer, an old F-150 that his father used in the winter. “Uh, this is us. I think your suitcase will be safe in the back under the cover.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jack said, swinging his bag over the tailgate and pulling the cover over it. They both climbed into the cab and then Jack reached to cup Bitty’s face.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked.

Bitty glanced around once more and said, “Oh my God yes.” He leaned into Jack and their lips met, softly at first, and then with more force. Bitty’s hands came up to tangle in Jack’s hair and he felt his body bump up against the console in the middle of the cab as he squirmed closer to Jack.

He broke away and said, “Mama’s expecting us by 12:15. If we don’t stop …”

“If we don’t stop we won't stop and we'd have to make explanations,” Jack finished for him. “You're right. Let's go.”

Bitty started the truck and began the drive back to Madison. Along the way, he told Jack about the plans for the weekend again and about the people he'd be meeting that day.

“Like I said, Karla knows you’re coming,” Bitty said. “She's really excited. Seth was the first person who believed I could play hockey, and Sam played on my line for two years. They're two of the maybe dozen people down here who would recognize you, if only because they watched the Frozen Four games.”

Bitty stopped himself.

“Is that gonna be a problem? People recognizing you?”

“No, the team knows I'm here visiting a friend and former teammate and his family.” He shrugged. “I think that they think it makes me seem more human.”

“They just don't know you like I do,” Bitty chirped. 

“No one knows me like you, Bits.”

When they got to Bitty’s house, Jack had barely made it through the door when Bitty’s mother embraced him, then started organizing pictures. Jack and Bitty played along, then Bitty showed Jack his room. Jack didn't have enough time to take everything in -- he saw figure skating medals, Bitty's high school team picture, Senor Bun -- before Bitty was stretching up to kiss him quickly and say, “I’d better get back downstairs. You can change and wash up -- bathroom’s across the hall -- and come to the kitchen.”

When Jack got downstairs, Coach Bittle was sitting at the table while Bitty and his mother were putting bowls of salad and chips down. Bitty saw his father cast an assessing eye over Jack, get halfway out of his chair and extend a hand. Jack shook it, saying “I'm Jack Zimmermann, sir.”

“Call me Coach, son. Everyone does.”

Bitty breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, feeling that Jack had passed some undefined test.

They spent the rest of the meal talking about the upcoming NHL season (Jack and Coach, who clearly had been studying) and Jack's family (Jack and Mama). By two o’clock, Bitty and Jack were back in the truck.

The kids were finishing their drills when Bitty led Jack into the rink and slipped down the corridor to the locker room the coaches used. Both of them laced on skates and Bitty put his helmet on, handing a spare to Jack. 

“I know you don't need it, but it's the rules for anyone on the ice with sticks, pucks and kids. Just -- you can leave it off until they get a look at you. Ready?”

Jack nodded, all seriousness, and they headed to the ice. Karla was perched in the scorer’s box, knowing what was coming. Seth and Sam were dividing the group into teams when the players caught sight of them. “Coach Eric!” Emily called. “Who's that?”

“I brought y’all a guest referee,” Eric said.

Seth and Sam were staring.

Sam spoke first. 

“Jack Zimmermann?”

Jack ducked his head, so Eric replied, “The one and only. Jack, this is Sam McElwee, my former liney, and Seth Hartwell, our old coach.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jack said. “I should thank you both. Bitty here’s one of the best line mates I've had the pleasure of playing with.”

A blushing Eric handed Jack a whistle and a puck and said, “Let's go!”

Seth and Sam ran the benches, rotating players every minute, keeping the smaller kids on against each other and the older kids on against each other. Refereeing wasn't hard in the strictly no-check game, although Jack blew his whistle a few times just to stop play to demonstrate something.

At the end of the hour, the players were exhausted and Bitty was exhilarated from watching Jack interact so easily with them. Karla pulled out her Sharpie and bag of pucks and Jack signed one for each skater on the way off the ice.

Bitty took pictures of Jack with each player to send to their parents. Sam and Seth made sure each one got a Falconers pen and magnet while Bitty and Jack changed out of their skates.

“Karla, I left the pies for you and Seth and Sam’s mom in the fridge in your office,” Bitty said before they left. Can you make sure they remember to take them home?”

“Sure thing, Bitty,” she said, and laughed at his expression when she used his nickname.

Bitty and Jack filled three coolers with the pies in the refrigerator in the garage at Bitty’s house and Bitty took the stack of order forms, plotting a route in his head. Moores, Conways, Dr. Mayhew, the Johnsons. Then the Wolfes, the O’Briens and the Gordons. On the way back home, they could stop at the Whites, the Berrys and the Taylors.

“As long as the rain holds off, we should be able to get these done in maybe a little more than two hours,” Bitty said. “It’ll be quicker if they’re not home; they all have porches where I can leave the pies, and I won’t have to stop and talk.”

Jack was plucking at his damp shirt.

“I thought you said it wasn’t going to be hot today,” Jack said.

“It’s not, really,” Bitty said, still looking just like he did when they stepped out of the cool of the rink. “It is humid, though.” 

Jack huffed and Bitty snuck another glance at him. This time, Jack was looking at him, eyes lit up and a smile transforming his features.

“What?” Bitty said.

“I think you’re more beautiful than I remembered,” Jack said.

“Just you hush now,” Bitty said. “A boy could get a complex listening to you.”

Jack laughed and said, “You asked. But all right then, change the subject.”

So Bitty told him all about the people who ordered pie: who they were, how they were related to one another. He talked about petty feuds and jealousies and acts of incredible kindness and generosity. 

Jack hmmed and nodded and asked a question from time to time, but after a while, Bitty said, “You sure I’m not boring you?”

Jack just laughed.

“I’ve missed listening to you,” he said.

Most of the houses where they stopped only got one or two pies, and Bitty would leave the engine running while he pulled their order forms, hopped out and got the pies from the back and carried them to the doors, sometimes leaving them on the porch or even just letting himself in a couple of times when no one answered the bell.

“People just leave their doors unlocked when they’re not home?” Jack asked.

“Some do,” Bitty said. “Not much really happens around here. And they knew I’d be dropping the pies off today.”

When they got to the Moores’ house, Bitty turned off the engine.

“I could use your help here,” he said. “Mrs. Moore has a lot of family coming in, and she ordered five pies.”

So Jack got out and Bitty handed him two pie boxes before grabbing three more and heading up the driveway towards the back door. When they got there, Bitty called through the screen door, “Hello? I’ve got your pies.”

“That you, Eric?” Mrs. Moore's voice came from inside. “Hold on, I’ll get the door for you.”

Mrs. Moore opened the door and Bitty could tell the moment her eyes lit on Jack. “Why, who’s this, Eric?” 

“Mrs. Moore, this is my friend Jack. He was captain of my hockey team this year,” Bitty said. “He came to visit for the weekend.”

“Well, it’s sure nice to meet you, Jack,” Mrs. Moore said. “And it’s nice of you to help Eric here out. The whole town loves his pies.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jack said. “The whole team loves them too.”

“I suppose most hockey teams don’t have their own baker, now do they?” Mrs. Moore said. “It must give you all a competitive advantage.”

“You could say that,” Jack said. 

“Now, Eric, can I write you a check for these?” she asked. “How much do I owe you?” 

“That’s four pies for $60,” Eric said. “The fifth is on the house.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Mrs. Moore said, “You’re trying to run a business.”

“I really should,” Bitty said. “Between having my pies at the library guild lunch and putting my card up and the people who have told me that you recommended me, you’ve helped me so much. I’m just trying to show my gratitude here, and I’d appreciate it if you’d let me.”

“Well, then, I guess I can’t say no,” she said. “Have a good weekend, boys!”

“She was nice,” Jack said.

“Mrs. Moore’s great,” Bitty said. 

He started telling Jack about Mrs. Moore’s fight to keep Judy Blume books on the shelves -- not just “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” because even parents in Madison acknowledged that young people should know about menstruation -- but “Forever” and “Blubber” too, and some of John Green’s books, and dear Lord, “Persephone.” He wasn’t sure Jack was actually listening, because Jack looked sort of half-asleep, but that was OK. He made the turn for the homeward leg of the delivery route he’d mapped out in his head and stopped at the White’s house.

It wasn’t until he jumped out of the cab that he noticed the black truck that had pulled up and stopped a little ways back. Shawn and Brandon. For fuck’s sake, Bitty thought. What did they hope to accomplish by following them around Madison?

He took the apple pie Mr. White had ordered to his door and turned to see Shawn and Brandon approaching the tailgate of his truck. He didn’t think they’d noticed there was anyone in the cab, and it didn’t look like Jack -- now dozing with his head against the window -- had noticed them.

Bitty jogged back to confront them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said, inserting himself between them and his truck. 

“I’m not gonna hurt anything,” Shawn said. “Just getting the pies my mama asked for.”

“I don’t have any pies for your mama,” Bitty said. “I told you I wasn’t making any pies for y’all, and I told your mama the same thing. These are already spoken for.”

Bitty tugged on the tailgate to make sure it was securely closed, and turned to go back to the cab when Shawn put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around.

“Come on, Little Bittle,” he said. “You know you’re not gonna be able to say no to me.”

“Let go of me!” Bitty yelled (screamed? Probably. But he would never admit it.) He threw a fist up and under Shawn’s rib cage, knocking the breath out of him and pushing him back.

“What --” Shawn gasped, and started to step back in when Brandon said, “Uh, Shawn?”

Shawn and Bitty looked up to see Jack coming around the other side of the truck. Jack’s expression was murderous, fiercer than Bitty had ever seen, even on the ice, and Shawn straightened up and took a step back.

Bitty had a fleeting thought that yeah, he’d been right. Shawn might be a touch bigger, but he’d never be able to take Jack in a fight. Brandon seemed to be shuffling backward, trying to distance himself from the situation.

“I barely touched him,” Shawn said to Jack. “He hit me!”

“This him?” Jack said to Bitty.

“Yes, it is,” Bitty said. “But don’t, Jack. You don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“Bitt -- Bittle, you’re on my team,” Jack said. “What kind of a captain would I be if I didn’t have your back?”

“He’s leaving now, and we’re gonna go home and tell Coach what happened, and maybe file a police report just so it’s on the record,” Bitty said. “I mean, I don’t think they’ll do anything about the attempted theft of pie, but Shawn’s been having quite the summer.”

“OK, but we’re going to stand right here and watch him drive away,” Jack said. “I don’t want them following us any more.”

So Jack knew they had been followed, Bitty thought. Then he thought, Jack does know Shawn knows where we live, right?

As soon as Shawn pulled a U-turn and drove off in the other direction, Jack held out his phone and said, “I think you should call the police now. Just in case he calls and accuses you of battery for punching him. Which was exactly the right thing to do, but still. _Ostie,_ but he’s an asshole.”

So Bitty called, spoke briefly to an officer who said someone would meet them at Bitty’s house, and finished the deliveries. He also remembered to call ahead to Mama to warn her.

“No, Mama, we’re fine, but something happened with Shawn and I want to make sure -- Yes, Mama, we’ll be back as soon as we can.”

That turned out to be a wise move when Bitty spotted the police cruiser in his driveway when they got back. Bitty found his parents at the kitchen table with an officer who identified herself as Jennifer Mayer. They all had glasses of iced tea and slices of peach pie and his mother’s laptop was open.

Bitty could see the last frame of Mrs. Sullivan’s video.

“Your parents have filled me in on what happened last weekend, Mr. Bittle,” she said. 

It took Eric a moment to realize she was speaking to him. “Oh, uh, call me Eric,” he said.

“I know Mr. Clark was involved in the graffiti incident at the high school earlier this year, and your parents said you’ve told them he has a history of harassing you?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said. “When he wouldn’t let go of me, I guess I panicked a little and I punched him right here.” Bitty pointed to the spot just at the bottom of his own rib cage. “I didn’t really hurt him -- he was coming back towards me when he saw Jack and stopped.”

Jack stepped forward.

“Jack Zimmermann,” he said, shaking her hand, and then, when he saw her writing his name down, “Two n’s. I’m a friend of Eric’s from school. I live in Providence but I came down to visit.”

“What did you see?” she asked. “Not what Eric told you, but what did you see?”

“I was kind of sleeping in Eric’s truck when I heard voices,” he said. “It sounded like Eric was arguing with someone, so I sat up and looked through the back window of the cab. I could see the guy holding onto Eric by his shoulder and Eric yelled at him to let go. When he didn’t, it looked like Eric hit him -- I couldn’t see his hands, just his shoulders -- and then I jumped out of the cab. When I came around the end, he was stepping towards Eric again but he stopped when he saw me.”

“All right, Eric, what happened leading up to that?” the officer asked. 

“They were trying to steal pies, I guess because of what happened last weekend,” Eric said. “I was trying to get back in the truck when Shawn grabbed me, and said I couldn’t say no to him.”

“All right,” Office Mayer said. “Here’s what I think will happen. I’ll speak with Mr. Clark and the man he was with -- Mr. Gray? -- and ask them what happened. I expect their version of events will differ from yours. Since it was, overall, a minor altercation and nobody got hurt, I don’t think any charges will be filed. If Mr. Clark asks that you be charged with battery, I’ll point out that he could then be charged with attempted theft and assault. You can pick up a copy of my report at the station Monday morning, and if you want, use it as evidence to file for a restraining order against Mr. Clark to keep him away from you.”

Bitty nodded, and she went on, “That doesn’t mean I don’t believe you,” she said. “That’s just the way it is. We all know Shawn Clark’s a piece of work.”

After she left, Bitty started to clear the table for dinner. Jack stood watching, silent, until Mama said, “Where are my manners? You boys go get cleaned up for supper. I’ll take care of this. Be down in 20 minutes?”

“Yes, Mama,” Bitty said, and led the way upstairs.

Instead of turning into the bathroom, Jack followed him into his bedroom, so Bitty closed the door, turned to Jack and said, “I am so sorry.”

Jack stepped into his body, wrapping his arms around Bitty and cradling Bitty’s head against his shoulder. “What for, _mon chou?_ You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m proud of you.”

“For dragging you into my problems,” Bitty said, sniffling a little. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” Jack said. “And this --” he tightened his arms around Bitty -- “feels pretty good to me.”

“Yeah, but Shawn is awful,” Bitty said.

“He is,” Jack said. “But the other people you introduced me to seem really nice. I like seeing where you came from. Are you OK, though? He really didn’t hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Bitty said. “Really, it was nothing. If it was high school, I probably would have tried to stand there and take it until he walked away and then curled up into a ball and cried, but I’m different now. You have to know how much you helped me with that.”

“If I helped, I’m glad,” Jack said. “But you’re one of the strongest people I know. Remember that.”

Jack kissed the top of his head, and then when Bitty looked up, he kissed his forehead. Bitty reached up higher and kissed Jack’s mouth, softly, sweetly, before pulling back.

“We should wash our faces and hands,” he said. “And I want a dry shirt.”

“You go ahead,” Jack told him. “If my name’s in a police report, I should probably let the PR people know.”

When Bitty came back from the bathroom, Jack was turning his phone off, chuckling. “They won’t say anything unless someone else digs up the report, but if they do, expect a release that says, ‘Falconers rookie foils pie robbery,’” Jack said.

Bitty giggled.

Dinner was surprisingly warm and calm. Coach asked Jack more about his family, while Mama asked about his degree. Jack talked about how much he had loved Samwell and what a good teammate Bitty was. Bitty drank it all in.

After dinner, Bitty and Jack cleared the table and did the dishes before, yes, baking for the Bittle family gathering the next day. Bitty laughed when Jack asked, “Can we make one maple-apple?” and said, “I got real maple syrup specially from the Whole Foods in Athens just for that.”

Finally, Bitty’s parents said goodnight and retreated to their room.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Mama said. “Big day tomorrow.”

“We won’t,” Bitty said. “As soon as these cupcakes come out, we’ll be right behind you.”

Bitty tried to keep his breathing even as he set the cupcakes on the cooling rack, checked make sure everything was put to rights and turned off the lights.

“Come on, Mr. Zimmermann,” he said. “Let’s go to bed.”

Of course it wasn’t as easy or as smooth as that. They both needed showers, and as much as Bitty liked the idea of showering together, he couldn’t even think about it with his parents down the hall.

Too late. He was thinking about it, in the shower, with Jack Zimmermann in his bedroom, all clean and damp and waiting for him.

He walked into his room and dropped the towel he carried in front of him in the hamper and looked up to see Jack dragging his eyes up from the obvious erection in Bitty's shorts back to Bitty’s face.

“Um, sorry?” Bitty said. “I couldn’t help --”

“Stop apologizing,” Jack said, standing up from the desk chair, letting Bitty see that he was at least half hard too 

Bitty tried not to stare as he looked at Jack from across the expanse of the air mattress he had filled when Jack was showering.

“Can I ask you to do something?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Bitty said, his mind reeling with the possibilities. Some were a mite intimidating.

“Will you lie on your bed -- your real bed -- like you do when we Skype? I want to see that in person,” Jack said.

That was easy, Bitty thought, and he walked around the air bed to lie down by way of answering.

Jack stood next to the bed, facing him, getting an approximation of what showed on his screen when they Skyped. He reached out and touched Bitty’s face gently, his fngertips caressing Bitty’s jaw, his thumb dragging lightly against Bitty’s lower lip.

“Come here, Jack,” Bitty said. “Lie down with me.”

When he did, Bitty rolled onto his side, pulling Jack close and kissing him. This was a different kiss than any they had yet shared, in the privacy of Bitty’s room, with nothing to stop them. Bitty pushed his tongue gently into Jack’s mouth, caressing his tongue, licking at the backs of his teeth. Bitty’s hands roamed, but kept coming back to that marvellous hockey butt, squeezing and pulling Jack closer so Bitty could feel Jack's erection up against his thigh. Jack used his hands to tilt Bitty’s head just so, then he used his weight to roll Bitty onto his back and just attacked his mouth until Bitty felt he was being devoured in the best possible way.

Jack released him for a moment, caressing Bitty’s bare chest with one of his hands and asked, “This OK?”

At Bitty’s breathless nod, Jack said, “Tell me to stop if you don’t like something or even if it’s just too much, OK?” 

Bitty nodded again.

“OK, because I really want to to touch you now.”

“You are touching me,” Bitty smirked.

“You know what I mean,” Jack said, giving a gentle nip to his collarbone.

Then Jack was over him and around him, touching and kissing and good Lord, licking, and who knew that would feel so good? Bitty stroked Jack’s back, shoulders and chest and pushed his fingers through his hair as Jack worked his way down Bitty’s body, not as teasing as he had been over Skype, just very thorough.

When he got to Bitty’s shorts, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and gave Bitty an inquiring look. Bitty simply lifted his hips to allow Jack to to remove them in response. Jack continued to kiss and nuzzle and make it so hard for Bitty to stay quiet.

He almost shouted when Jack’s mouth finally enveloped the head of his cock, soft and gentle and wet and warm. Bitty almost told him it was too much when Jack slid his lips down the shaft and began to suck.

Almost, but he didn’t. Instead he held onto Jack’s hair with one hand, stuffed the other hand in his mouth to keep himself quiet and gave himself up to the sensations. When his hips started to shift, Jack hummed in approval and holy mother of God if that didn’t feel good.

Bitty wanted it to go on forever, but in an embarrassingly short time, he was tapping frantically at the side of Jack’s head, then his abs were curling him up and his orgasm hit him like a freight train.

As the spasms slowed, Jack suckled at him gently, leaving his cock clean as it softened. Jack released him when he squirmed and crawled back up to where he could look Bitty in the face.

“You’re amazing,” Jack said.

“I think I should be saying that to you,” Bitty said, snuggling into Jack’s arms. And feeling Jack’s cock -- which must be painfully stiff -- bump his hip.

“Let me,” Bitty said, and reached for him.

“You don’t have to,” Jack said.

“But I want to, so very much,” Bitty said.

When they were done and Jack had used the towel from Bitty’s shower to clean himself and Bitty’s torso, where most of the mess had landed, they curled up together and turned off the light.

“Goodnight, Jack,” Bitty said. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bits.” 


	48. July 4: Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this. Expect an epilogue tomorrow or the next day.  
> If you want to skip the NSFW part, stop after their discussion in the truck of keeping the relationship private.

Jack groaned when the alarm on his phone went off. He rolled over to pick it up and turn it off. But he rolled into a very warm, very sleepy Eric Bittle, who had fit himself up against Jack’s side as they slept.

Jack’s heart lurched as Bitty blinked himself awake, rubbed his eyes and said, “What time is it?”

If Jack could look forward to waking up with Bitty, with his scratchy voice and messy hair, forever, he would be a happy man.

“6:30,” Jack said, leaning forward and giving Bittle a quick kiss. “You can go back to sleep. I just want to get a run in since I skipped yesterday.”

“Come here,” Bitty said, wrapping himself around Jack and giving him a longer kiss. Yes, Jack could really get used to waking up like this. “If you think I’m going to miss the chance of watching you run, you’re sorely mistaken. We need to move anyway -- Mama’ll be up soon. You want the bathroom first?”

Bitty led them on a route that covered about 5 miles, past the high school, through a big park, along a street lined with antebellum mansions. 

As they ran, Jack took in the ways Georgia looked and felt different from Montreal or even Massachusetts. The green was different, he thought. Lighter, maybe, more yellow than blue. The dirt on the roadsides almost glowed red in the rising sun, and the air felt thick and heavy and moist. Bitty looked like a creature made of gold, his hair glowing in the morning light and his skin warm and rosy. Rose gold, Jack thought. That was what he looked like.

“Hey, I’m supposed to be watching your behind,” Bitty said, looking over his shoulder. 

“I don’t know, Bits,” Jack said. “I don’t think I can do better than your ass in those little shorts.”

“Says the man whose butt had its own Twitter,” Bitty said. “We stay on this street til we get back home. Race you!” 

Bitty took off and Jack enjoyed the view for a moment before kicking up his speed and pulling even. Bitty managed to draw ahead again just as they reached his driveway. “I can’t believe I beat an NHL player,” Bitty gasped, bent over. 

“And me a guest and all,” Jack said.

Bitty gave him a mock glare. When and they went in the kitchen to get water, Bitty’s mother was putting coffee on. “You go on and take the first shower,” Bitty said. “Coffee’ll be ready when you come down.”

It was, along with a plate of scrambled eggs with peppers and tomatoes and a slice of ham and toast. Bitty’s mom had moved on to icing and decorating the cupcakes Bitty had baked the night before. 

“After I’m done with the shower, I’ll throw a load of laundry in,” Bitty said. “Can I put your things in with mine?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Thanks.”

As soon as Bitty disappeared up the stairs, Bitty’s mom fixed him with a direct look and said, “I really want to thank you.”

“I think I should be thanking you, Mrs -- Suzanne,” Jack said.

“No, I mean it,” she said. “I don’t know if you know how much your friendship means to Dicky. The whole team, really, but especially you. And for you to make time to come and see him when you’ve already graduated, well, I think it made him believe that you’ll still be there for him.”

She looked down, picked up another cupcake, and applied red icing.

“I guess after yesterday, you know that things weren’t easy for Dicky in high school here,” she said. “When he went off to Samwell, he was really hoping -- we were all really hoping -- he’d find a place where he fit in, and he did. It’s not easy for me to see all the time, because I know he’s not coming back, not to live here, and that’s right for him. But there are a lot of people here who love him and care about him, and it’s hard to watch him growing away from us.”

Now she was using blue frosting.

“I’m grateful to know there are people there who care about him too,” Bitty’s mother said. “I was so worried when he came home last summer, still suffering from that concussion. Karla had to find other things for him to do for weeks until he could skate. I almost asked if wanted to stay home, go to school here, but that would have broken his heart.”

White frosting was covering a chocolate cupcake now.

“He told me how you helped him, when he went back and he was afraid of being hit again. So thank you for caring about him.”

Bitty’s mother -- Suzanne -- got up and moved the empty bowls of frosting to the sink, coming back with sprinkles and American flags on toothpicks. Jack started putting the sprinkles on while she stuck flags in all the cupcakes.

“I know you’re going to be busy -- so busy -- when your season starts,” she said. “But you’ll make time for him, even occasionally, won’t you? Losing your friendship would hurt him, and he’s already had to deal with a lot of hurt.”

Jack stood and carried his plate to the sink, keeping his back turned so she couldn't see his expression. “Of course I’ll make time for Bitty,” he said. “He’s very important to me.”

“Well, then, that’s fine,” Suzanne said.

Bitty walked through the kitchen with a laundry basket full of dirty clothes and the towels they had used last night. “Be right back to eat, and then we can go to the rink if you want,” he said.

“Sounds good,” Jack said.

He felt like he had just had a “you break his heart, I’ll break your legs” speech from Bitty’s mom, if a little more subtle.

Bitty let them into the rink with key Karla had given him. 

“I figured I’d start in figure skates,” Bitty said. “I kinda maybe practiced one of my old routines for you.”

“OK,” Jack said, bending to tie his skates, “I’ll hang here and watch.”

Bitty plugged his phone into the sound system. “Press play when I’m ready at center ice.”

Bitty lapped the rink a couple of times to warm up, then stopped in the middle with his back to Jack. Jack tapped the arrow and heard the opening notes of “Halo.”

Jack never knew Bitty had skated to that song. No wonder it meant so much to him.

He watched Bitty fly across the ice, faster than Jack had ever seen him in a game, fully in control of his body. Bitty flung himself into the air, soaring, spinning, and alit without any break in the flow of his movement. Then he did it again, and again./p>

At the end, Bitty was spinning on one foot, the other leg raised behind him, both hands reaching behind his head to grasp the skate on his raised leg. How did he even do that?

When he came to a stop and the music ended, Jack stared. Bitty skated over to where he sat, looking -- worried? 

“What’d you think?” he asked.

“Bits, I’m speechless,” Jack said. “I mean, I knew you were beautiful, but _mère de Dieu_.”

“Come out here?” Bitty said. “No checking. I’m in figure skates and no pads.”

Bitty took both of Jack’s hands and tugged him onto the ice, skating backward while Jack skated forward, keeping a solid two feet between them as they circled the ice. As Jack sped up, Bitty let him close the gap, and soon Jack was reaching forward to place kisses on Bitty’s face.

Bitty slowed to a stop and let Jack’s momentum bring him into Bitty’s body. Jack leaned down and kissed Bitty slowly, thoroughly, deeply.

When they broke apart to breathe, Bitty nestled his head into Jack’s neck and said, “You don’t know how many times I wanted to do this at Faber.”

“You did?” Jack asked. “I never knew, not until I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I wanted it for months,” Bitty said. “I’m so glad I can have it now."

They kissed more before Bitty said, “Let’s skate. We have about an hour.”

They circled the rink holding hands, occasionally trading kisses. Bitty demonstrated a couple of jumps for Jack to try, but he found that he couldn’t quite get airborne like Bitty did. He didn’t mind.

After one last kiss -- this one with wandering hands and bodies plastered against each other -- Bitty said, “We should go. We have to help my parents get ready.”

By the time they got back, the Bittle kitchen had been transformed. There was food on every flat surface, and Bitty’s mother was cutting fruit for (another?) fruit salad. Coach spied them walking in and came into the kitchen saying, “Boys? I need your help getting a couple of canopies up.”

So they trooped outside and wrestled the canopies up then dragged tables and chairs under them. Coach had just handed each of them a beer when they heard a car.

“That’ll be your Aunt Barbara and Moomaw,” Coach said. “Why don’t y’all go say hello? I need to shower and change before anyone else gets here.”

Bitty and Jack went around the front, where Bitty helped a tiny older woman with a cloud of white hair from the front seat of a sedan.

“Moomaw, this is Jack. Jack, this is Moomaw,” Bitty said.

Moomaw looked at Jack with a twinkle in her eye and said, “I’ve been looking so forward to meeting you. Suzanne was right -- you are a handsome devil."

She took Jack’s arm and said, “Dicky, can you help Barbara with the food?”

Jack had installed her at the kitchen table when Bitty and his Aunt Barbara came in laden with food in plastic containers.

“Such a gentleman,” Moomaw said. “You must make your parents proud.”

After that, the afternoon was kind of a blur. Jack made sure to get a picture of the apple pie surrounded by red, white and blue cupcakes. He posted it to Instagram with the caption, “Happy Independence Day to my American friends! I helped decorate the cupcakes :-)”

The food didn’t stop, and neither did Bitty or his mother, replenishing trays, refreshing drinks, joking with the older people, playing with the kids. At one point, Bitty pulled an old net and some street hockey sticks out of the garage and he and Jack got the kids started before giving way to younger replacements.

Jack sank into a chair and found himself next to Moomaw, who was watching Bitty rotate platters and offer Coach a cold bottle of water while he stood at the grill.

“I think I should tell you I Googled you,” Moomaw said. “Well, Barbara did and read everything out loud.”

“Oh,” Jack said, cursing the fact that his life was spread across the Internet and wondering what she thought of him now. “Anything you want to ask about?”

It came out just a little more clipped than was actually polite, given that all she had really done was confirm that Bitty's relatives were talking about him. Which he had expected.

“Just, how are you, really?” Moomaw said. “You seem to have a lot on your plate. Coming here adds to it.”

“Yes, but I get to see Bitty, so …”

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” Moomaw said.

“Me either,” Jack said. “Seeing this, I understand how feeding a hockey team didn’t faze him.”

“That’s not what I was talking about, young man, and you know it,” Moomaw said. “Does he make you happy too?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “He really does.”

“Then you’ll be fine,” Moomaw said. “You’ll be good to each other, and because you each want the other to be happy, you’ll be good to yourselves too.”

Bitty flopped into the chair on the other side of Moomaw.

“How’re y’all doing?” Bitty asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“Bitty, take a break.” Jack said.

“Bitty, was it?” Moomaw said. “Jack’s right. Take a break.”

As the sun moved west, people started to pack up and leave, some taking leftovers. Bitty and his parents and Jack put the rest of the food away and collected the trash, then Bitty’s mom appeared with a cooler.

“Dicky, y’all have been around the family all day,” she said. “Why don’t you and Jack take the truck and go over to Cooper’s field to watch the fireworks?”

Bitty’s face split into a wide grin. “Good idea, Mama. I’ll grab some blankets and take the cover off the truck bed.”

Sitting in the back of the truck, his back against the cab and Bitty’s back against his chest, Jack breathed in the scent of Bitty’s hair. Tonight it smelled of the smoke from the barbecue, and fresh sweat, and something sweet and warm that Jack associated with Bitty.

“We should probably talk,” Jack said, a little heavily. 

Bitty half-turned so he could see Jack’s face. “Well, that sounds ominous,” he said.

“No, not like that, Bitty. I love you,” Jack said. 

“And I love you,” Bitty said. “So let's take that as a starting point.”

He settled back against Jack’s chest.

“I'm not ready to be out yet,” Jack said. “Not right away. And if I came out, and people found out you were my boyfriend, it would mean problems for you. You're not out here, even to your parents. They could find out through some sleazy tabloid TV show or website. You're still in school. You have enough to deal with.”

“I know all that,” Bitty said. “That's why we agreed to keep this private.”

“I know. I just think it's going to be harder than you think when you're back at school and you're out and people think you're available,” Jack said. “You know Ransom and Holster will try to set you up again for Winter Screw.”

“I can handle it,” Bitty said. He shrugged. “If worse comes to worse I'll make up a long-distance boyfriend, someone who is not from Canada and doesn't get hockey.”

“But Bits, I'm worried that this is going to ruin your last two years of school,” Jack said. “You should be able to go out and have fun.” 

“I can still do that,” Bitty said. I've got the team to hang with. What about you? NHL rookie, won't they guys expect you to tear up the town?”

“Maybe that's where an overdose and rehab and four years of college help,” Jack said. “I get the impression that no one’s going to push me to party.”

They watched the the sky explode in color as Bitty stretched up to kiss Jack under the fireworks. Jack let his hands drift down and rest at the waistband of Bitty’s shorts.

“Can I touch you?” he asked.

Bitty nodded and made an affirmative noise while he unbuttoned the waistband and pulled the zipper down, 

Jack worked his hand into the open fly, determined he needed more room to work, and pushed Bitty’s shorts and underwear down to his hips. 

He stroked Bitty's cock almost lazily at first, picking up speed when Bitty squirmed, then stopping. 

“Hold on,” he said, and dug into his pocket for the small bottle of lube. 

“Why, Mr. Zimmerman, I thought you were just happy to see me,” Bitty said, making his meaning clear by pushing his backside into Jack’s groin, rubbing up against the erection that was far more prominent than the tiny bottle had been.

“Oh, I am, Bitty. I am,” Jack said, putting a little of the line on his fingers. “Here. Less chafing this way.”

Bitty relaxed back against Jack, his bare ass pressed to the front of Jack’s shorts, his head tilted on Jack’s shoulder, exposing the side of his neck and jaw to Jack’s mouth. Bitty's hands were squeezing Jack’s thighs when he turned enough to see Jack's face, looking down at his hands on Bitty.

“You're supposed to be watching the fireworks,” Jack said. 

“You too,” Bitty said, but he turned his head back.

“I am,” Jack said, watching the colors play over Bitty’s face and torso where his shirt was rucked up.

Jack let his fingers explore Bitty’s balls and the tender skin behind them while keeping up a steady pace with the other hand. Bitty's hips started to shift up and down the way they did the night before when he was getting close, and Jack sped up his efforts again.

Jack could feel the zipper of his shorts pressing into his cock as Bitty pushed back into him. He kissed at Bitty’s jaw, tugged gently at his balls and let his ears drink in Bitty’s panting little moans until Bitty gave a louder groan, curled in on himself and came over Jack’s hand. Bitty relaxed, then giggled. “There’s a packet of baby wipes in the cooler.”

“Baby wipes? Now who’s coming prepared?” Jack chirped.

“Mama keeps them with the picnic stuff,” Bitty said, handing him a wipe. “She says they work better than wet-naps.”

“She's right,” Jack said, cleaning between his fingers.

Bitty tucked himself away and turned in the vee of Jack’s legs to face him.

“I want to try something,” he said, “and I don't know how to be all smooth about it, so I'm just gonna ask. Jack, can I try sucking you?”

Jack's brain blanked for a half a second before he said, “ _Mon Dieu,_ yes, of course. Umm. I can wear a condom if you want?”

Bitty looked at him. “I didn't wear one last night.”

“No, but you told me you didn't really have any experience, so I figured …”

“No, you were right,” Bitty said. 

“I have been tested since the last time I had any sexual contact with anyone,” Jack said. “When I signed my contract I had a physical and they looked for everything. But if you want me to wear a condom that's fine.”

Bitty shook his head. “No, I really don't want to taste latex. I want to taste you.”

With that, Jack opened the fastening of his shorts and wriggled until they were down low enough to give Bitty room. Bitty’s eyes were huge in his face when he watched Jack’s cock spring free, and then his jaw took on the determined set Jack had seen so often on the ice.

He took it both hands, leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss right at the tip. He glanced up at Jack and then started licking the shaft in long stripes, like it was an ice cream cone. Jack tried not to let his head fall back -- he wanted to watch -- as he tried to fix this moment in his memory: the warm, damp air, the whine of insects and distant boom of fireworks, the colors exploding across the sky and getting caught in Bitty’s hair. Bitty crouched between his knees, Bitty’s pink tongue slipping out and caressing his dick; Bitty's small hands on him, his eyes, wide and dark, darting looks at Jack's face, even the sounds of Jack’s own breathing. Jack was sure he'd never lived a moment so perfect.

Then Bitty fit his mouth over the head of Jack’s cock and Jack forgot all about cataloging the moment. He forgot everything but the heat of Bitty’s mouth, firmness of his tongue massaging Jack’s frenulum, his hand at the base working in time with his mouth.

It may have been a little sloppy and unpracticed, but it was perfect. It wasn't long before Jack's fingers tightened in Bitty’s hair and he was saying, “Bits, I'm about to --” 

Bitty just sucked harder, but then spluttered and pulled off as Jack’s come filled his mouth.

He swallowed, wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, and said, “I think I'm gonna have to practice that.”

Jack laughed. “As much as you want. And if you want me to demonstrate, I'm here for you. Now come here.”

Jack pulled Bitty close and kissed him, tasting himself in Bitty's mouth and wondering what he ever did to deserve this.

That night, when Bitty was in the bathroom, Jack checked his phone to find a text from Shitty.

 _How is it in the Deep South?_ Shitty wrote. _I bet it's hot, brah._

Jack texted back, _Yes, it's hot here. Very hot._


	49. July 5: Jack/Bitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains very mildly NSFW material.
> 
> I almost can't believe this is the end of 49 chapters in 49 days. I started with no plan, no real plot in mind, just following where the characters led me. It turned into a (semi-) coherent story, and I am beyond grateful for everyone who took the time to read it, and especially those who gave kudos and comments. You all kept me going when I felt like giving in and taking a day or two (or three) off.

In the years that followed, when Jack recalled his first Fourth of July in Madison, it wasn't the picnic or the fireworks he remembered. It was the day after, when the celebrations were over.

After a morning run and some quick resistance work, Bitty and Jack cleaned up and went to church. Then, with the blessing of Bitty’s parents, they packed a lunch and headed for a small lake with a sandy beach accessible only by a quarter-mile walk through grass and scrub. It was enough to keep everyone else away.

Bitty spread a blanket out and rubbed sunscreen into Jack’s back, then passed the bottle to Jack and turned his own back.

Jack read his book -- Erik Larson on the Lusitania -- while Bitty messed with his phone for a while and then got up and waded into the water. Jack took the lens cap off his camera and tried to capture the play of light off the water onto Bitty’s skin. Looking at him through the lens took his breath away.

Jack rose and walked up behind Bitty, hugging him around his waist and whispering in his ear, “Race you to that raft out there.”

Bitty took off, running until he could flop into the water and start swimming. Jack followed, and his longer reach and bigger hands helped him pull ahead. Bitty grabbed him around the waist and pulled him into a kiss just before he reached the raft, then stretched to touch it himself.

“Beat you again, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said, taking the sting out of it with another kiss. “Race you to the beach, double or nothing.”

Bitty took off, Jack in pursuit again. This time Jack reached the edge of the water and turned, catching Bitty and pulling him down. He found himself sitting on the sand, water up past his waist, Bitty in his lap. They were kissing again, warm skin, cool water, drops running down their backs and shoulders. Jack knew Bitty could feel his erection pressing into him, and he could feel Bitty’s. 

Bitty was the first to ask this time. “Can I touch you?”

“You too,” Jack said, pushing Bitty's swim trunks down. Bitty sat up to give Jack room to lift his hips and pull his down and settled back, bringing them together. Jack was able to wrap a hand around both of them, and Bitty kissed him and pushed his cock against Jack's and through Jack's fist. It was wonderful.

When it was over, they pulled their swim trunks back up and retreated to the blanket. They ate the lunch Bitty had packed, and Jack knew what the phrase “blissed out” meant.

After they ate, Jack rolled on his side and looked up at Bitty.

“I wish you were coming home with me tomorrow,” he said.

“I'll be fine here,” Bitty said. “You heard what Mama heard at church this morning? Shawn decided to spend the rest of the summer in Athens.”

“It's not that,” Jack said. “I know you can take care of yourself. It's just, I'm going to miss you so much.”

Bitty looked down at him. “Oh, honey, I wish I could go with you. I really do. But my job is here. It's only another four weeks. Then l’ll have 10 days with you.”

“I know, Bits, and I get it,” Jack said. “But don’t expect me to like it.”

“I don’t like being apart either,” Bitty said. “Maybe next summer, I can find a job in Providence. Then I'd just have to find a place to live there.”

“I think I know a place,” Jack said. 

Bitty laughed and thought he never knew it could be like this. He'd had crushes on boys in middle school, which led him to understand that he was gay, and in high school, and even at Samwell, even on Jack. But none of those crushes had ever led him to think about a relationship like this, where they were friends who could chirp and tease, who had each other's backs, who could laugh and giggle and then moan with abandon during sex. Bitty was now a person who had sex -- that was amazing. Bitty was a person who had sex with Jack Zimmermann -- _the_ person who had sex with Jack Zimmermann -- that was mind-blowing. And Jack gave him every indication that he felt the same way about Bitty.

“But Jack,” Bitty said. “If we’re in Providence next summer, can we come back here for the Fourth?”

“Sure, Bitty,” Jack said. “What was that you said the other night? I can’t hardly wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/justlookfrightened)!


End file.
